


Consumed

by squibbler



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, BDSM, Boss Derek Hale, Dom Derek Hale, Dom/sub, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Stiles Stilinski, Kidnapping, M/M, Organized Crime, Polish Stiles Stilinski, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, Sub Stiles Stilinski, Violence, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26164708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squibbler/pseuds/squibbler
Summary: Loosely based on 365 DaysDerek Hale is the head of one of Spain's most notorious crime families.  Stiles Stillinski is a newly graduated college student trying to find his place in the world.  Stiles, however; wasn't planning on ending his trip to Spain to fix his failing relationship, by getting kidnapped by one of the most dangerous men in Spain. Fate crossed their paths once, Derek is determined to control destiny this time.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 103
Kudos: 448





	1. The boy in the Sand

Consumed

The morning it happened, was warm. A gentle breeze brought on by the Spanish coast swept lazily over the seaside rooftop terrace. Talia Hale had always preferred to conduct business outside when possible.

“Not all of our business should be done in the dark of night.” She would muse while leading her business associates outdoors.

Like a predator stalking its prey, she led the men to a table set up in the center of the roof to where her brother and advisor, Peter was standing and waiting for them to join. Luring them right where she wanted them. Talia had an unspoken air of power about her, that commanded the attention of those who were beneath her sharp heel. She was equally beautiful as she was dangerous, earning herself the title as the head of the Hale family after her husband had been killed in a sour deal. Men feared her, and women wanted to be her.  
The hot Spanish sun beat down on Derek hales shoulders as he stood away from his mother and her business associates. His dark features set in a hard scowl were a stark contrast to the beautiful early morning weather.

“We have the cargo, we just need a transporter.” He listened in and out of the conversation as they continued, distracted by the few people on the beach below.

“If you are here to waste my time, then leave” Talia countered. “You know I do not transport across country lines.”

“It would be well worth your time, señora. Consider it.”

She turned to look at Derek, her only son, and the heir to her family’s fortune, name, and the reputation that came with it. Her eyes set in a hard glare as she watched her son be more interested in anything other than the potential business deal she was negotiating.

Derek turned his attention back to the shoreline, drowning out the conversation with the crashing waves against the coast, choosing instead to watch the few people down below. Flippantly, Derek pulled a pair of binoculars out to get a closer look. He didn’t care about the intricacies of his family’s business. His mother was more than powerful enough to control anyone involved with them, and being Talia Hale’s son came with similar privileges. Derek enjoyed reaping the benefits of his family’s business without consequence.

“Peter, finish this for me.” She said as she pushed her chair away from the table to stand and join her son at the balcony. The salty breeze tousled her dark hair as she gazed at her only son, admiring the man he was becoming, but frustrated with the boy he still emotionally was. Derek was everything she ever dreamed of in a son, though still flawed. Derek wanted for nothing and was never satisfied. He always had an intense hunger for what he did not have, which would either benefit him greatly in this business or be his Icarus if he flew too close to the sun.

Derek was entranced by what he saw on the rocky shoreline below. A boy, though not quite a man dancing alone. The wind stronger at the shore, pushing his soft brown hair around as he danced among the rocks and sand. His face was round and cherub-like in appearance with his face dotted with freckles that mimicked the stars. All of his features framed wide honey-colored eyes, squinted in delight as he laughed. The water lapped at his feet as he spun in circles, arms spread wide and fingers splayed as he danced as if no one was watching. Derek swore he had never seen anyone so beautiful in all of his life. He indulged in his thoughts as he imagined what that slim toned body would feel like below his. To hold this boy’s face in his hands and kiss every freckle before making his way to plush lips.

Talia raised a hand and placed it on Derek’s shoulder, coaxing the binoculars down so she too could see what had transfixed her son.

“They’re assholes.” Derek stated as he passed Talia the binoculars.

“They’re potential business partners. They still deserve respect, Derek.” She reminded him cooly as she spotted the boy dancing on the sand. “Even if he is an asshole.” Tutting, Talia passed the binoculars back. “You have to be careful Derek. You can’t afford those types of distractions.”

“Our lifestyle ensures I can afford these types of distractions.” Derek teases, lifting the binoculars once again to find the boy, but frowning and pulling them down when he was unable to.

“Family first, Derek. It’s time to grow up.” Talia said softly, cupping Derek’s cheek in the palm of her hand.

Derek felt the bullet ripping a hole through his abdomen before he heard the crack of the gunshot. He sank to the ground as he watched Talia crumple, lifelessly. Blood pouring out of her chest and pooling on the sun-warmed concrete below them. Talia’s warm brown eyes were already glazed over in death as she stared lifelessly at the sun. Bodyguards swarmed the two of them immediately, desperately trying to staunch Derek’s bleeding and starting chest compressions on Talia. Derek’s dark brown eyes unfocused as he began to slip from consciousness. Someone was slapping his cheek and demanding that he stay awake as his breaths became shallower, but Derek felt as if his head was underwater. The voices, as loud as they were, sounded muffled, as everything moved around him in slow motion. Blood sprayed with each strangled cough Derek gasped out as he started to drown in his own blood.  
Growing up, Derek had always been told you see your life flash before your eyes before you die. He had expected to see his family, but all he saw were wide honey-colored eyes, shining like amber in a sea of freckles. He reached out his hand to lead the boy in a dance across the sand, but the boy pulled away.

“Don’t leave me.” The boy whispered.

Desperately Derek reached out again, just inches from the boy. So close to being able to feel his lithe body against his, and smell the salt in his hair, and so close to feeling complete for the first time in his life. Just before their fingers could touch, Derek was ripped away from the boy in the sand as everything faded to black.

Five Years Later

Derek hale sat, fingers steepled and brow furrowed at the head of a conference table in Madrid. Anger rolling off of him in waves making the air in the conference room heavy and thick with tension. Derek Hale did not tolerate disobedience at any level, especially when it came to his business. Across from him sat a beady-eyed balding man, in a suit far too large for his frame, he sat squirming under Derek’s steady gaze.

“I’m sorry you had to travel all this way, Sir.” The man, Marco, stuttered. “But it’s simply impossible.”

“I own several very successful businesses, Marco,” Derek stated matter of factly, annoyance cutting through his low voice. “However, the numbers that you reported as total revenue do not reflect the total number of sales. I’m not in the mood for pandering bullshit, so just answer this simple question. Are you dumb enough for someone to steal from right under your nose, or are you dumb enough to steal from me?” Derek asked cooly, leaning back in his chair as his heavy-handed enforcers moved to stand behind Marco.

Beads of sweat dotted Marco’s brow and fishy upper lip as he floundered silently in his chair. Licking his lips as he desperately tried to talk his way out of the situation at hand.

“Maybe if I had a chance to look at the reports on my office computer, I could find the discrepancy.” Marco sputtered, rising from his chair and adjusting his tie. However, Derek’s enforcers clapped a hand on each of his shoulders and forced Marco back into his seat.

“That won’t be necessary. You have until the end of the month to repay all debts, with an eight percent interest for wasting my time.” Derek leveled, opening his briefcase sat next to him to pull out a black envelope to slide across the table to Marco. “Unless you want your sexual exploits to be sent to your wife.”

Marco opened the envelope with shaky hands, his palms sweating as he pulled each photo out of the envelope. His weasel-like face paled, eyes bulging as they scanned over the photos before him.

“That’s impossible! You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” Derek deadpanned. “I don’t tolerate thieves or liars. If it’s a problem I would suggest looking into your life insurance policy. Your wife and children may need it to repay me.” Derek stood, snapping his briefcase shut. “We’re done here.”

After his mother’s death, Derek took over as the head of the Hale family, quickly learning what it took to control businesses both in the public light and behind it. Derek amassed a fortune far beyond what his mother left him, becoming one of the wealthiest men in Spain. With money and power came anything Derek could ever ask for. A different woman or man every night, houses dotted across the globe, boats, cars, more drugs than he knew what to do with, yet he was never satisfied. The only time he felt content was when the boy dancing in the sand visited him in his dreams. The boy didn’t visit him in his dreams as frequently as he had when Derek was recovering in the hospital anymore. Derek ached in the time between seeing his sweet boy in his dreams. In his spare time, he scoured the world for his boy, bound and determined to bring him home. Derek procured all of the security camera footage from local shops, wineries, coffee shops, yet his boy eluded all of them.  
As Derek was starting to lose hope and give in to the thought that the boy didn’t exist, he saw his boy. Just as beautiful as the first time he had ever set eyes on him. He was shorter than he remembered, but his infectious smile never changed. Those honey-colored eyes that Derek could lose himself in forever shone brightly as he laughed, phone pressed against his ear.

“Stop the car!” Derek barked, his neck practically breaking as he spun in his seat, barely believing what he was seeing. The car lurched to a halt, while Derek fumbled with the handle to the door.

“You can’t make a scene.” Derek’s Uncle Peter, his mother’s brother, tutted beside him, pressing the lock. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I have waited for five years, you asshole.” Derek growled, practically throwing his weight against the door. Derek watched as his beautiful boy climbed into a cab, and just as soon as he saw his boy, he was gone again.

“Follow that cab.” Derek demanded, baring his teeth.

“We have business to attend to, Derek. We’ll find your boy later.” Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s a wonder to me how you’re Talia’s son.”

Derek ignored him, and instead focused on the fact that his boy was here. His boy was in Spain.


	2. Are you lost, sweet boy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors note:   
> Hello!   
> Due to there being multiple languages being spoken   
> Polish is in Italics   
> Spanish is underlined   
> English is unchanged
> 
> Thank you! ~Squibs

Stiles bubbled with excitement as he made his way to baggage claim. His return to Spain was a trip that he had longed for, and the reality of finally landing made him effervescent. The first time he came to Spain was on a class trip for Spanish his senior year of High School, never bothering to remember how to actually speak the language. Originally he had just signed up for the elective just to go on the class trip but fell in love with Spain after arriving. 

_ “What country is greater than your own,  _ _ Mieczyslaw?” _ His dad would ask in Polish.  _ “Why visit another country if it is not greater than Poland?” _

The past four years in university, Stiles dreamed of returning to Spain, even picking up marine biology as his major so he could spend as much time as he could, lost in the clear blue waters of the Spanish beaches. For years Stiles struggled with anxiety and panic attacks, that could strike at any moment, typically brought on by stress and crowds. The first time Stiles danced on the beach when he was a senior in high school was the first time he truly felt free from the world. He danced with no fear of a panic attack looming around the corner, filling his lungs with the salty air. 

Stiles was convinced that his dad would love Spain if he ever came. The beaches, the food, the men, Stiles was obsessed with all of it. After graduating from college, the first thing he wanted to do was return to Spain. He begged his boyfriend of 2 years, Antoni, for 6 months to take him to Spain, and when Antoni caved and agreed, Stiles saved every penny he could get his hands on. As excited as Stiles was to go back to Spain, Antoni was equally annoyed with the entire idea. 

_ “I’m not taking a leave from work to frolic on beaches.” _ He said pointedly when Stiles asked him about Spain for what felt like the millionth time.  _ “And with your panic attacks, I don’t want to travel with you outside of Poland. What if something happened?” _ He asked haughtily, not looking up from his laptop as he sat in his and Stiles’s shared apartment. 

_ “You know how to help me out of a panic attack, don’t use that against me.”  _ Stiles shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

_ “Yeah but your dad won’t be there.”  _ Antoni remarked, continuing to browse the internet, uninterested in the conversation. 

_ “My dad won’t always be there, I promise it won’t be bad. I’ll even pay for it! Just take me to Spain.”  _

Stiles ran the rest of the way to the baggage carousel, waiting impatiently for his and Antoni’s luggage. He bounced from foot to foot as he craned his neck to see if he could recognize any of the bags starting to come down the conveyor. 

_ “God, Mieczyslaw. Relax already.”  _ Antoni scolded, as he pulled out his phone to kill time and check to see where the rest of their group was.  _ “We have 5 days, Spain isn’t going anywhere.”  _

_ “Don’t use my full name, you sound like my dad.” _ Stiles whined.  _ “We just have so much to do! We have to get to the hotel so we can shower and be done in time for our dinner reservations.”  _ Stiles, craned his neck to look around the rest of the baggage claim area to see if he could spot his best friend Lydia, and her boyfriend Oliver. 

Lydia had been his best friend all through college, an American exchange student living in the same dorm building as him. They quickly became friends and were nearly inseparable since. Lydia always teased that if Stiles was straight they would have been married by now. 

After finally spotting them among the crowd, Stiles broke from Antoni’s side to run up to them breathlessly. ]

_ “I’m so glad you guys made it!” Stiles exclaimed, his smile lighting up the entire airport. “I’m so excited! You’re going to love it Lyd’s! There’s this beach we have to go to-”  _

_ “Woah there, tiger.”  _ Antoni met Stiles at his side with their bags in tow his voice laced with annoyance.  _ “Let them find their bags.”  _

Lydia shot Antoni a glare.  _ “He’s fine. Tell me all about the beach, Stiles.”  _

After gathering their bags, the group made their way outside to catch a cab. The warm humid air blew through the doors of the airport ruffling Stile’s hair making him laugh. 

_ “See! Isn’t Spain great? They greet you with a blowjob!”  _ Stiles remarked, laughing heartily at his own joke.    


_ “You are so cheesy, Stiles!”  _ Lydia laughed with him, bopping the top of his head with her purse. 

Still laughing at their own joke, the group tried to hail a cab outside of the busy airport. Just as they were finally able to hail a cab an all-black SUV suddenly squealed to a halt a few meters ahead of them nearly causing an accident in the process. The SUV stopped so suddenly that Stiles could taste the burnt rubber in the air. 

_ “I hope everyone here doesn’t drive like that. Jesus what an idiot.” _ Stiles said to Lydia as he rolled his eyes at the SUV. 

_ “Come on, or Antoni is going to leave without us.” _ Lydia grumbled, noting that Antoni had already hailed a cab and was inside it, though he left Stiles’s luggage out of the cab.  _ “I’ll help you load the back.”  _

Later that night, they went to dinner at a posh tapas restaurant, enjoying the late evening under the stars. Stiles leaned back in the loveseat that he shared with Lydia, cocktail in hand humming in contentment. He raised an eyebrow at Antoni as he watched him raise his cocktail in his own hand and clearing his throat. 

_ “I propose a toast, to the most intelligent man I know. My dad!”  _ He laughed at his own joke, though no one joined in. Stiles just sank embarrassedly further into his seat. 

_ “What are you doing?” _ He groaned, ears burning hot with shame. 

_ “I’m just kidding! I would like to make a toast to my beautiful boyfriend who, in 15 minutes, will be twenty-three!”  _

Lydia clapped politely and picked up her own glass, tilting it towards Stiles in solidarity before downing the rest of her drink. 

Without skipping a beat, Antoni pulled a slip of paper out of his breast pocket of his loudly printed Hawaiian shirt before trying to get the restaurant to sing along to Happy Birthday, in Spanish. Some of the people humored him, either clapping along, or singing along softly, but Stiles wanted the ground to swallow him alive. Willing away the panic attack looming its ugly head, he took a deep pull from his drink and closed his eyes. Thankfully the song was over quickly and Antoni sat back down. 

_ “Happy Birthday!”  _ The trio exclaimed to Stiles, Antoni went to fill Stiles’s glass but noticed that the carafe they were sharing was empty. Before they could even think about ordering another round of drinks, a waiter stopped by their table, dropping off a bottle of champagne in a chilled ice bucket with four champagne flutes. 

_ “Oh! My favorite! I didn’t think you remembered!” _ Stiles smiled, the embarrassment from the past few minutes starting to melt away. He looked at the champagne in the bucket and then to Antoni, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

_ “I uh… I didn’t order it. Maybe it’s on the house? But it would be rude to decline it so let’s drink it.”  _ He made a grab for the bottle but stiles slid the bucket away. 

_ “No, wait until I come back from the bathroom. I have to pee.” _ Stiles stood, adjusting his skintight shorts, and fixing his oversized lightweight shirt so that his shoulder and collar bone stuck out. 

_ “You are like a faucet I swear.”  _ Antoni rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

_ “I’ll be right back, just two minutes.”  _ Stiles punctuated this by holding up two fingers before blowing a kiss to Antoni. 

Stiles stood up and walked behind the outdoor tents they were lounging under to the stone path outlined by a tall hedge on either side. After rounding the corner to the stone path he took several paces, shivering slightly. Not because of the weather, but because of the uncanny feeling he was being watched. The path wasn’t as well lit as the rest of the outdoor area, and he was the only one walking down it. His brow furrowed when he didn’t recognize the end of the path as the entrance to the restaurant and realizing he may have gone in the wrong direction he turned around. Upon turning around, however; he bumped into a man who was so close to him, Stiles’s nose nearly touched his chest. 

“Are you lost, sweet boy?” The man asked, looking down at Stiles. His voice was deep and rough, the English words flowing out of his mouth silkily. Stiles was so bewildered the English words barely made sense to him. He couldn’t meet the man’s gaze as he stared at the ground, but of what he could see, the man was incredibly muscular. Muscles rippled under tanned skin peeking through his crisp and no doubt expensive black button-up shirt. The man wore an all-black ensemble, and all of it seemed to be tailored to fit his body exquisitely. Stiles couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the man sent a chill straight through him. Backing up slowly, and keeping his head down, Stiles made his way quickly past the man, taking multiple strides before chancing a glance over his shoulder to see if the man was still standing there. Stiles was even more puzzled when he saw the man was gone. 

_ “I shouldn’t drink so much.” _ Stiles chided himself, before making his way back to his group, deciding that the bathroom could wait until they returned to their hotel.

  
  
  



	3. Gone

Stiles slept in after returning from the restaurant so late the night before. Normally an early riser, sleeping in was unusual for Stiles, but seeing as it was his birthday, he decided he deserved it. What he didn’t deserve though, was waking up to an empty hotel room the morning of his birthday. Sighing and not even bothering to find out where Antoni had gotten to, he texted Lydia to see if she was awake yet and if she wanted to lounge poolside. 

The pool attached to their hotel was nothing short of lavish. Pristine white lounge chairs outlined the crystal blue waters of the pool, which nearly matched the color of the sky. Stiles sighed as he stretched out on his lounge chair, as he absorbed all of the sunlight he could. After all, he couldn’t come home from Barcelona without a tan. His black bathing suit clung to his hips sinfully, advertising just enough of his body without giving the whole thing away. 

_ “Oh Good! Our wine is here!”  _ Lydia sat up quickly to meet the waiter who was putting their new bottle of wine on their small side table, before picking up the empty one. “Thank you!”

_ “That’s what I’m talking about!”  _ Stiles sighed, happily accepting the glass of wine Lydia was offering to him. 

_ “Where’s Antoni? He didn’t come down with you this morning.”  _ Lydia prodded, sipping her wine while she closed her eyes behind her oversized sunglasses. 

_ “Hell if I know. He doesn’t answer his phone.”  _ Stiles grumbled, still burned from this morning but attempting desperately for it to not ruin his birthday. 

Lydia rolled her eyes and took a sip of her wine.  _ “I would expect better of him. Especially on your birthday.”  _

_ “I don’t. I’m not his priority. But maybe he’ll grow out of it.”  _ Stiles shrugged. If his dad were here, he would be scolding him. Telling him that finding the good in everyone will only leave you open to hurt later. 

Before they could continue their conversation, Antoni made his appearance. Waving boisterously as he sauntered over to Stiles. 

_ “There’s the birthday boy! Hi babe!” _ He grinned, leaning down to kiss Stiles. _ “What do you want to do for lunch”  _

_ “Lunch? It’s almost 5 already… Where were you all day?”  _ Stiles asked, his lips pressed in a thin line, eyes still closed from behind his sunglasses. 

_ “I went to that church you talked about. La Sagrada Familia I think? You were sleeping like a log and I didn’t want to waste a day.”  _ Antoni shrugged carelessly. 

_ “La Sagrada Familia?! We were supposed to go there together! Why would you go without me?” _ Stiles demanded, sitting up to look at Antoni. His heart ached at the fact that he missed going to the cathedral but ached more that Antoni would see it without him purposefully. 

_ “Like I said, you were sleeping. Plus you wouldn’t have liked it anyway, too many people. We don’t want you to have a panic attack do we?”  _

_ “Don’t use that against me! You didn’t think about me when you went there, you never think about me.”  _ Stiles shot back, crossing his arms over his chest, refusing to look at Antoni.

“ _ Oh! I got you this though! For your birthday!”  _ Antoni stated proudly, digging through his pockets to pull out a small keychain.  _ “See! It’s the church.”  _ He dangled the keychain before Stiles’s face. Stiles took the small trinket in his hands and stood up, heart pounding in his ears. All of the pent up frustration and anger from the past two years bubbling to a head. 

_ “Oh. Thank you, that was sweet.”  _ Stiles murmured, walking up to where Antoni was standing at the edge of the pool.  _ “Now shove it up your ass.”  _ Stiles spat, shoving Antoni into the pool. He stepped into his sandals quickly as he grabbed his swimsuit coverup before storming out of the pool. 

Several hours later, Stiles found himself leaning on a railing looking over the ocean. The sun had set a long time ago and Stiles kicked himself for acting before thinking. If he had thought it through he wouldn’t be lost in Barcelona without his phone. The cool night breeze brought on from the ocean made Stiles shiver. The sudden feeling of being exposed made him pull his sheer coverup closer to his body. Shaking the feeling out of his head, he wiped the tears from his eyes as he started back down the sidewalk. Surely he could find someone who could help him find his way back. 

Unfortunately, however, the longer Stiles walked, the more lost he became. The beauty of Spain and the magic Stiles saw in it started to fade as he got deeper and deeper into the city. Large stone buildings loomed over top of him like giants, swallowing him up in the dark. Stiles couldn’t even remember the last time he saw a streetlamp or someone that looked safe enough to ask for help. The cold feeling of anxiety crept its way out of the pit of Stiles’s stomach, rearing its ugly head. With every pound of his heartbeat, he could feel his throat closing as he struggled to breathe. 

_ “Oh please not now.” _ Stiles whimpered, quickening his pace, desperately trying to find something he recognized. He ignored the catcalls and the jeers aimed at him, not like he could understand them anyway. Stiles was hyper-aware of every small movement and sound around him, nearly jumping out of his skin when a dog barked. His heart pounded in his ears like a drum and tears stung in the corners of his eyes. His dad would kill him if he ever found out he got lost, alone in the underbelly of Barcelona. 

Growing up as the son of a police officer, Stiles’s father had taught him many things: how to hold and shoot a gun, how to find an escape, how to break out of handcuffs, but his dad never taught him how to navigate a foreign city at night. The elder Stilinski would be disappointed, however not surprised by how impulsive his son is. Stiles felt like a child, sniffling, lost, and missing his dad. He took another turn down a back alley when without warning, he was pinned in place by a set of headlights from a car. The high beams were on, momentarily blinding Stiles, as he blinked and tried to move out of the harsh light. Raising a hand to cover his eyebrows to shield the light, he took a few paces forward before bumping into a man. 

“ Good evening .” The man greeted in Spanish, though Stiles could barely translate it. 

Stiles spun around to see the man, but before he could make it there he felt a pinch in the juncture of his neck and shoulder and felt the cold flooding sensation of medication being pushed into his bloodstream. Stiles gasped, his breaths felt strangled as he tried to grab at his neck to pull the needle out. His fingers felt more and more clumsy as an uncontrollable urge to fall asleep took over him. 

“Don’t struggle. He doesn’t like damaged goods.” Was the last thing Stiles heard before slipping into darkness. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the short chapter! Chapter 4 should be up soon!


	4. Curiosity killed the cat

Stiles stretched out in his bed, not quite wanting to wake back up yet. He was extremely comfortable in his bed, though his head felt as if it was underwater. He felt like he had the worst hangover he ever had in his life, several times over. Rolling onto his back, he tossed his left arm out next to him, expecting to feel Antoni laying next to him, but Stiles hadn’t expected for his arm to bounce off the bed. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he slowly started to open his eyes. When he finally did open his eyes, he wished he hadn’t. Dark sheets matched dark pillows on the impossibly large bed he was laid on top of. The sudden realization that he was not in his hotel room struck him like a freight train. Stiles sat up abruptly to scan the room, suddenly far more awake than he was moments ago. His mind felt as if it was stuck full of honey as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening. Running his hands over his body, he sighed in relief when he felt that his swimsuit and his coverup were still on, providing a small comfort. 

Stiles tried to reign in his breathing, keeping his panic attack at bay as he scanned the room. He was in a large bedroom, the tall vaulted ceilings loomed over his head making Stiles feel incredibly small. The room was dark, with wooden furniture so dark it nearly looked black, with a wall of dark velvet curtains covering what Stiles assumed were windows. Carefully climbing off the bed so as to not make any noise, he stepped across the room to the first door he saw. Reaching out for the ornate doorknob he turned the handle, expecting it to be locked but was surprised when it opened right away. Behind the door was a bathroom bigger than the apartment he shared with Antoni in Poland. The dark colors from the bedroom carried over into the bathroom, though there was more natural light than in the bedroom. A large window framed a large marble bathtub big enough to comfortably sit two people, and stiles whistled lowly, impressed by the gold fixtures on the tap. Next to the bathtub was the biggest shower Stiles had ever seen. Deciding that he didn’t need to investigate the bathroom any further, Stiles backed out of the room the same way he came in. 

The next door Stiles tried to open was similar to the bathroom door with the same dark wood, ornately carved around the edges with the same opulent doorknobs. The biggest difference between this door and the bathroom door was that this one was a french double door. Stiles tried both doorknobs, expecting them to open yet neither did. Starting to panic, stiles turned the doorknobs with more force, jiggling them against the lock holding them in place. When that didn’t work, he pounded his fists against the door until they felt raw. 

“Hello?! Can anyone hear me?” Stiles shouted against the door, throwing his body weight against it. 

Panting and admitting defeat, Stiles paced in a circle. A thousand and one scenarios ran through his head so quickly he couldn’t concentrate on one particular outcome to the situation he found himself in. Running his hands through his hair until it stuck up in different directions, Stiles found himself looking at the wall covered by curtains. In a panic, he threw them open, desperate to find another exit. 

The curtains covered huge arched windows with a glass set of double doors leading out to a balcony. Unsurprisingly, these too were locked. Stiles pressed his face against the window, straining to see if he recognized anything. The first thing he noticed was that he was high off the ground, the bedroom had to be on at least the second or third story Stiles surmised. The bedroom overlooked an expansive garden, full of lush plants accented by lights illuminating trees dotting among the other plants. The fact that it was night time puzzled Stiles, his sense of time skewed. Looking to his wrist to check the time, he noticed that his smartwatch was missing. 

_ “Great.” _ Was the only word Stiles could breathe out. This entire situation was looking worse and worse.

Returning to the window, trying to find any other clues as to where he was he noticed something that made him wish he had never looked out of the window to begin with. The entire garden was bordered by 4 walls, just as tall if not taller than where he was. The massive stone walls loomed over the garden imposingly. Stiles finally realized what building he was in, though he still didn’t know where that was. He was in a fortress. 

After what felt like an eternity, Stiles heard footsteps approach the door. The sound made him jump out of his skin as he grabbed the closest object next to him to use as a weapon. A jingling of keys followed by the unmistakable click of the lock being opened had Stiles heart racing. He raised his chosen weapon, a table lamp, above his head, poised and ready to strike. In spite of feeling powerful with a weapon ready, Stiles felt silly the second the footsteps left the door. 

Curiosity took over the second the footsteps faded away, as Stiles scrambled to the door. Holding his breath, he turned the knob. Partly expecting it to still be locked he fist-pumped the air with a quiet “ _ Whoop!”  _ when the door actually opened. 

After seeing the stone walls outside surrounding the garden, Stiles half expected the hallways to look like a dungeon with torches lining the walls, and was surprised when he found that the interior was fairly modern. Plaster covered the stone from the inside, displaying the texture of the stone, but updating the look with a soft cream color as opposed to intimidating grey. Stiles quickly made his way down the hallway, barefooted as his shoes were missing when he woke up. The pads of his bare feet tapped quietly down the hallway as he tried to find an exit or a door that looked like it lead outside. After taking a marble staircase down a flight of stairs, Stiles found himself in a spacious living room, with an open floor concept. A large marble fireplace was surrounded by plush leather couches. A dining table large enough to seat twenty people sat at the opposite end of the room, the chairs set at the table were all stiff-backed and upholstered with velvet. The living room seemed the exact opposite of a living room. It looked as if no one had ever used it other than just to show off, with no attention to comfort. Stiles had made it halfway to the dining table when his breath caught in his throat. Directly across from the head of the table was a painting so large it could have almost been considered a mural. The painting was of Stiles, there was no mistaking it. His heart hammered in his ears as he looked at the portrait, scouring it to find any detail that would make it different from himself. It couldn’t be him. It wasn’t possible. 

The portrait was of a boy with tousled brunette hair, smiling, his eyes, the color of honey, squinted in what could only be described as delight. Freckles dotted the boy’s face and were so painstakingly placed that Stiles could only imagine they nearly matched his own. 

_ “Fuck me.”  _ Stiles whispered, his eyes nearly bulging with shock. 

“Are you lost, sweet boy?” 

Stiles knew that voice before he turned around. It was the same voice and the same sentence that the strange man at the restaurant said to him. That same gravely, low voice that sent shivers down his spine. Stiles turned slowly around to face the man.

“You-” Was all he was able to whisper out before the man grabbed his upper arm and led him to one of the chairs near the dining table. 

He was tall, with dark features, that were sharp and dominating. He had dark eyebrows that were knitted together in what Stiles could only see as frustration. Below them were dark brown eyes followed by a sloping nose. His mouth was pressed in a thin line as he placed Stiles in a chair and crouched before him. His jawline was chiseled so sharply that Stiles was afraid he would cut himself against it. The man had a considerable amount of stubble with hair that lead down his throat to his chest. He had a dark no doubt Italian made silk shirt on that hugged every inch of his toned muscles, with a matching black belt and slim-cut black slacks completing the look. 

A water bottle was raised to Stiles’s lips, already opened and ready for him to take a sip. 

“Drink, please. You had a bad reaction to the sedative. We miscalculated your dose.” The man explained, tilting the bottle against Stiles’s lips. 

“No. No thank you.” Stiles stuttered before gaining a brief moment of confidence. “Why am I here? Who the fuck are you? I want to go home.” Stiles stood, puffing his small chest out, his jaw set in defiance. 

“Sit. The sedative still hasn’t left your system.” The man demanded in a low tone of confidence, his back straight and arms crossed over his chest as he seemed unbothered by Stiles’s show.

“Just let me leave and we can pretend like this never happened? I won’t tell anyone I swear.” Stiles dropped the tough guy approach and attempted rolling over and showing his belly. 

“I said, sit down.” Derek growled, pushing Stiles back into a chair. “If you don’t want to know why you’re here, keep rambling. I’ll wait.”

Stiles was momentarily dazed by the shove, breathing rapidly as he studied the man and waited to know why he was being kept here. The man moved to loom over him as if daring him to stand back up again. He grabbed the arms of Stiles chair, boxing him in for a moment before pushing back and taking a step away. When he grabbed the arms of Stiles’s chair, that’s when Stiles noticed the numerous tattoos on his hands and wrists, before they disappeared under the sleeves of the black silk shirt the man was wearing. Gulping, Stiles looked the man in the eye before sinking into the chair and admitting defeat. 

“Good boy.” The man stated as if it were an expectation of Stiles before pulling the water bottle back to Stiles’s lips. “Now drink.” His heavy Spanish accent made it hard for Stiles to understand under all of the grumbling, but Stiles was smarter than to accept an open bottle from someone he didn’t know. Especially someone who had just kidnapped him.

“Thanks but… I am okay.” Stiles nodded, punctuating his statement with an affirmation. 

“It wasn’t a request.” The man moved to stand in front of Stiles, boxing him into his seat once again. With one hand he grabbed Stiles’s cheeks and forced his mouth open before trickling some water between his lips. Stiles coughed and sputtered, rejecting most of the water forced upon him by spitting it out. 

“Stop!” Stiles cried out, using his hands to block his face. “I’ll drink it! Just stop!” His chest rose and fell quickly as he coughed up the rest of the water that was tipped down his throat. The man glared at him and pushed the water into Stiles’s hands. Stiles took a cautionary sip, much to the approval of the man before holding the bottle between his hands again. He swallowed and then took a deep breath, blinking away the tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. 

“Now are you ready to listen to me?” The man asked, his arms back on the arms of the chair once more as he leaned into Stiles’s personal space. He ran his nose just millimeters from Stiles’s sensitive skin on his neck, pleased with the goosebumps that rose on the boy’s skin from the action. Before backing away and walking to the fireplace, picking up a glass of what Stiles could only imagine being scotch on the way. 

Stiles’s heart nearly stopped beating in his chest when he saw the handle of a gun tucked into the back waistband of the man’s pants, shining ominously against the firelight. 

“You have haunted me. For five years.” The man took a sip from his glass before continuing. “Five years ago, my mother died in front of my eyes. The bullet that killed her struck me. I thought I was going to die, but then I saw you. If I hadn’t seen you at the airport and get into that cab, I would have never believed it. But I have had the feeling, for five years, that one day you would sit before me, and be mine. From the moment I saw you dance in the sand, I knew I had to have you.” The man finished, staring at Stiles pinned in his seat. 

“How- That’s impossible.” Stiles murmured, his chest tight. “You must be mistaken.” 

“I don’t make mistakes. I have searched the world for you,  Mieczyslaw.” Stiles’s eyes snapped up. 

“No. You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to use that name. Stiles. It’s just stiles. God, why am I even telling you my name? How do you even know my name?” Stiles rambled, getting more hysterical as he went.  _ “I can’t be here. I have to go. I’m sorry but this must all just be a big misunderstanding.”  _ The stress making Stiles slip back into Polish, all English words flying out the window. He ran his hands through his hair, head spinning with the gravity of the situation.

“English, Sweet boy.” The man cut in to halt Stiles’s rambling. “You will learn to love the life I will give you.” 

“No! You can’t just expect me to drop my life and just accept this! I don’t even know your name.” 

“I know, but you will grow used to it. You may call me Derek, or Daddy if you prefer.” The tone of finality made Stiles squirm in his seat.

“I have a boyfriend! He’s going to look for me, I have friends, I have a family. I have my own life.” Stiles stood up, running his hands through his hair once again. “Just please, let me go. We’ll forget any of this happened. My lips are sealed.” Stiles mimed zippering his lips shut and throwing away the key. 

“I have something to show you. You may want to sit.” Derek couldn’t meet Stiles’s gaze, as he passed an all-black envelope to Stiles. 

Stiles sat on the edge of the chair as he opened the envelope, fingers trembling. Photo after photo after photo of Antoni tumbled out each of them showed Antoni having sex with a woman. Stiles let them all fall to the ground. He had suspected it for a while, but to see photos of it made his stomach sour. His nose and ears pink with embarrassment as tears threatened to well up in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” And to his credit, Derek did sound genuinely sad. “He doesn’t deserve you.”    


“But that’s for me to decide.” Stiles snapped, his mind unable to process everything that had just been laid before him. 

“My people have already taken your things from his room. They left a note saying that you would be returning to Poland to take your things from the apartment and leave his life.” 

Stiles stood on shaking legs, looking like a newborn deer. 

“Fuck this. Fuck you.” He was able to make a few strides across the room before Derek grabbed him roughly, throwing him back into the chair. Derek placed a knee between Stiles’s legs as leverage as he ran a hand over Stiles’s throat, using his other hand to place a palm on Stiles’s chest, delighting in the jackhammering heartbeat he could feel below his palm. 

“I will not touch you, yet. But you will want it. You’ll beg for me.” His palm moved to behind Stiles’s back, arching the shorter boy into his larger frame. He snaked a hand behind Stiles’s hair to grab a fistful and forcefully turn Stiles head to the right so he could lay kisses down the side of his throat “I don’t tolerate disobedience. Please do not give me a reason to tie you up.”

As quickly as he pinned Stiles into his seat, Derek released his hold on the boy and backed up. He took several deep breaths as he gazed at his boy, his hair messy, chest fluttering with each breath, eyes red-rimmed and throat pink from his grip. Derek swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

Before Stiles could stop himself, he was out of his chair and running though Derek was already anticipating this. He grabbed Stiles roughly and threw him against a stone pillar, kissing him deeply. He was drunk off the taste of his sweet boy, greedily kissing him deeper as if his life depended on it. 

Stiles slammed his hands against Derek’s back, pulling at his shirt trying anything in his power to get the man off of him when suddenly he felt cool steel in his palm. Grabbing the handle he whipped the gun out and pointed it at Derek, pulling the hammer back the way his dad taught him. He held both hands on the handle, not trusting his shaking sweaty palms as he backed away from Derek, keeping him in his sights. 

“Okay. This is not funny.” Derek said cooly, his lips curling into a frown. “Give me the gun before you hurt yourself.” He took a step towards stiles, palms up looking into his eyes, unafraid. Stiles could tell this wasn’t his first time at the business end of a gun. 

Stiles countered, taking a second step back and firing a warning shot past Derek. Stiles was comfortable shooting a gun, but never something of this caliber and nearly knocked himself backward when the shot fired. The kickback from the pistol raised both of his arms holding the gun above his head giving Derek enough time to snatch the gun and throw Stiles up against the pillar once more. This time, however, Derek pushed stiles against the pillar chest first so he could engulf the smaller man’s body beneath his. He breathed against Stiles’s hair, moving a hand to cover Stiles’s throat once more. 

Derek had waited years to feel his boy under his hand, and feeling his heartbeat flutter beneath his thumb made it worth it. 

“Do you really want to kill me, Stiles?” He breathed, feeling the swell of Stiles’s ass against his crotch. He used one hand to hold stiles by the waist, the thin swimsuit material served as the only barrier keeping skin from touching skin. “Many have tried. None have been successful.” 

“ Excuse me .” A new voice broke the bubble that Stiles had thought he and Derek were alone in. Picturing what he must look like to someone else right now, in this compromising position made him flush with embarrassment. “ Your new toy will have to wait. We have a delivery you have to sign for.” The voice spoke in Spanish, sounding bored and annoyed. 

Derek took a half step from behind stiles, sliding the gun back into his waistband. He took a deep breath before running his hand up the length of Stiles’s back and through his hair once more before stepping away. He left stiles standing at the pillar, like a child in timeout. Stiles was too mortified to even look at men who had entered the room. 

“ Take him to my room.” Derek told the second man in the room, who stepped up to Stiles, being sure not to touch him. 

“Come on.” Derek’s lackey murmured in English, somewhere between a request and a command. Stiles pulled himself off of the pillar and followed the man Derek had asked to escort him, but not before he took note of the door Derek left out of. That door had to lead outside. Stiles was sure of it. 

  
  



	5. Don't Look

Derek followed his uncle Peter outside, walking to one of the gated off areas of the garden. After a few paces, he had passed his uncle and was making his way to the side garden gate. He wanted to get this over with quickly before Stiles could get himself into any more trouble or put more bullet holes into his walls. 

“Have you even bothered to consider the consequences this could bring to the family?”  Peter asked, trailing behind Derek.  “This could lead to problems between families.”  His tone sounded bored. 

“I have.” Derek stated flatly, shooting a glare at Peter 

“As your advisor, I just have to say it. I don’t wanna piss off the big bad wolf.” Peter punctuated this with jazz hands and a smirk. 

“Just gather the others.”

Derek walked alone through a portion of the gardens that fell outside of the inner gated walls of the Hale fortress. This section of the gardens was not as manicured or decorated as the rest of the gardens in the center of the fortress. There was no need to decorate this portion of the outdoors, nothing happened here that was worth decorating. He made his way to a small structure with stairs leading underground and made his way quickly down the steps. When the fortress was originally built, the underground structure was used as a prison cell, and nothing much has changed since. The dirt floor crunched under Dereks feet as he made his way down the winding corridors by memory. There was no artificial light in the underground, the only light source was moonlight let in by small windows carved out in the stone ceilings to act as skylights. His final destination was a large room with several large boulders left behind after a section of the underground collapsed years ago. A man was tied to one of the boulders in the center of the room. His large stomach hanging out of his shirt as his limbs were tied and stretched around the boulder, rendering him immobile.    


“Ah! The great Derek Hale.” The man spat at Derek’s feet.  “Are you here to gut me? Cut out my tongue?” He jeered, his double chin wobbling. A sheen of sweat covered his face, giving away his bravado as an act, and revealing how nervous he was in reality. 

“If you had only stolen from me, I would have cut out your tongue and we would have been even.” Derek pulled up a stool to sit before the man tied to the boulder. His name was Mario Ruiz. He had come with a good recommendation from a family well known to the Hale’s, so he was hired by one of Derek’s lackeys as a runner. Now Derek sees his true nature. For even Derek, and all of the ugliness he has seen and dealt, had lines he wouldn’t cross. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He asked, looking Mario in the eye. Even looking at this man after knowing what he did made him sick. “ You transported children to the cartel. Under my name.” Derek spat out, livid that his family’s name would be dragged through the mud.  “I could be wrong, but it’s pretty difficult to confuse cocaine with children. Am I wrong?" He ground out.

Mario couldn’t meet Derek’s gaze, choosing instead to turn his head away.  “So kill me then.” He shrugged calling Derek’s bluff. 

“I won’t just kill you. There will be no trace of you left in this world other than a greasy smear on my lawn that my housekeeper will have gone by morning.” 

Stiles sat on the floor between the bed and the wall, weighing his options. It had been a while since anyone had checked on him and he was absolutely not going to sit pretty and wait. Picking himself up off the floor, he considered his escape routes. He could try to get the door open, or he could try to bust out one of the windows. Between the bed sheets and duvet, there was no way that it would reach the ground if he tied them together. The fall would hurt, but it would get him outside. None of the windows faced outwards so if he went through the window, he would have to cross the garden without getting caught. His other option was waiting until someone unlocked the door and he could try to surprise attack them with his trusty lamp. Weighing his options, a small voice chimed into his inner debate asking:    


“Was the door even locked?” 

The man that Derek had sent to take Stiles to his room was in a hurry to leave, did he lock the door? Stiles crept to the large door and slowly twisted the knob, shocked when the door did indeed open. 

_ “It can’t be that easy? Can it?”  _ He asked himself, poking his head out of the doorway, and checking the hallways. Realizing he was the only one there, he decided to not waste the opportunity that fell into his lap. Stiles ran. 

Nearly eight years of lacrosse between high school and college had served him well. It kept him toned, it was a great place to burn off all of his energy, and best of all it kept him fast. Feet pounding on the stone floors stiles made his way down the marble staircase and through the living room, past his portrait, and to the door that Derek had left through. Stiles nearly skidded to a halt when he finally got to the door. His body was on fire with adrenaline as he slowly turned the knob and nearly sobbing with relief as the door was left unlocked. 

When Stiles stepped outside, his whole body on edge. He couldn’t mess this up. Unfamiliar with his surroundings he listened intently, straining to hear anything in the quiet night air. Deciding he didn’t hear anything, he took a few cautious steps into the front path. The main gates were so tantalizingly close he could make out the ornate metal designs snaking their way up the gate. 

By the time he made it to the gate, he heard a few men talking idly. Their voices echoed off the stone walls in the night air, making it impossible to tell which direction they came from. Stiles peeked through the gate and frowned when he realized it lead to more gardens instead of the road he imagined. The gardens weren’t pristine like the one he could see from his window though, and were instead dark, with just grass clipped short. Stiles couldn’t put his finger on it, but the garden on the other side of the gate felt ominous. Pulling on the metal gate, he cursed when he found that it was locked. Deciding that he was too close to freedom to give up, he started to scale the ivy-covered wall. The stones dug into his fingertips and toes as he climbed, and the ivy scratched the skin that wasn’t covered by his linen coverup and swimsuit bottoms. Stiles was so focused on reaching the top of the wall that he never noticed that the voices he heard earlier were closer. 

Finally reaching the top of the wall, Stiles pulled his upper body up high enough to rest his chest on the top of the wall to swing his legs over. Once he was laying across the top of the wall, he glanced over the other side. Derek stood with a group of men, surrounding a man laying on the ground. Pressing his body into the top of the wall, he was thankful that he decided to wear black to the pool. Sneaking a glance over the wall, stiles noticed that the men were all too focused on the man laying on the ground to notice him. 

The man was bloodied and gasping for air as blood bubbled from his lips, staining his white shirt. Before Stiles could register what was happening, Derek pulled the gun out of his waistband and shot the man in the head, scattering blood and tissue across the lawn. 

The sudden crack of the gunshot shot through Stiles, making him jump unintentionally. His startle from the shot causing him to lose his grip on the ledge. His hands scrambled as he desperately tried to hang on to anything to no avail as he fell to the ground with a sick thud. 

“Oh for christ’s sake, who left the door unlocked?” Peter complained, rolling his eyes. 

Derek’s breath caught in his throat when he watched Stiles tumble down the wall and hit the ground so hard his body bounced. Derek’s entire world stopped along with his heart when Stiles didn’t move. Business be damned, family be damned. His boy needs him. 

“ Call Deaton. God damn it somebody call Deaton!”

  
  



	6. Run baby, run.

Warmth enveloped stiles as he drifted listlessly. Was he dead? If he was, it would have been better than being kidnapped by a murderer. Brief flashes of the night before flipped through Stiles’s mind like a slide show. Just enough to catch a glimpse but not enough to piece together what happened after Derek shot the bloodied man. Under normal circumstances, Stiles would have been terrified of falling from that height, though at that moment a sense of calm and peace washed over him. The next thing he remembers is being held gently as if he were made of glass while desperate whispers in Spanish were pressed against his temple. Prayers perhaps? Derek didn’t strike Stiles as a man of God. There was a lot about Derek he didn’t know, that much was evident. Stiles also remembers the kiss Derek gave him against the pillar and how it felt like Derek poured his soul into his mouth. Stiles can’t recall ever being kissed like that. So passionately animalistic, it sent shivers down his spine. 

_ “Dude, for real?”  _ The scolding came internally, as Stiles shook the thought from his head, and hopefully away from his dick. The more he thought, the more he started to come back to reality. Deciding he wasn’t dead, unfortunately, Stiles began to stir. 

Groaning, he slowly stretched out his stiff muscles, wincing when he moved his torso. He opened his eyes and groaned louder when he realized he was right back in the bedroom he started in. Turning his tender body, he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Blinking owlishly, Stiles rubbed his eyes several more times when the haze of sleep didn’t leave his vision. It took several more seconds after that to realize that his contacts were gone. Squinting as he tried to focus on the room, he noticed a figure sitting in a chair pulled up to the side of the bed. 

Derek sat in the chair next to the bed Stiles slept in all night, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath and reminding himself that he was still alive. Deaton said the boy was lucky, that a fall from that height would have injured him far more if it weren’t for the sedative still in his body, making him limp as he fell. Stiles still had a concussion and a few cracked ribs but nothing that wouldn’t heal itself. He carried Stiles carefully back to their bedroom after Deaton gave him a clean bill of health, pressing more kisses than he could count against his temple. 

“How are you feeling. Are you in pain?” Derek asked as he leaned forward, gently placing Stiles glasses on his nose. “The doctor said you shouldn’t wear contacts with your concussion. I found these in your items.” 

Stiles nodded curtly, and adjusted the frames on his face, the round lenses making his eyes appear that much larger. Now that his glasses were on, Stiles could See Derek clearly. He sat in the chair next to the bed in just a pair of sweatpants. He was shirtless exposing all of the tattoos that marked his skin. Most of the tattoos were in Spanish so their meanings were lost to Stiles. The most striking thing about Derek, framed by the sunlight peeking through the curtain behind him, were the deep dark circles bruising his under eyes. He looked like he hadn’t sleep in weeks.

“You killed him.” Stiles whispered, inching himself away from Derek the best he could.

“You shouldn’t have seen it. But know that he deserved it.” Derek said quietly, his face soft. 

Stiles sat stiffly on the bed, head pounding and his chest aching with every breath he drew. It didn’t matter if he deserved it or not, he was dead. A man was dead, and he watched Derek kill him. Everything was overwhelming in this moment and became that much more so when he realized he was wearing an oversized white teeshirt and boxer shorts. No doubt Derek’s. He pulled the blanket around himself tightly like a shield from Derek’s intense gaze. 

“I changed your clothes. But I assure you I did not touch you.” Derek grumbled, leaning back in his chair. “I took the liberty of sending your measurements to my tailor.” 

“Of course you have a tailor. There’s someone for everything isn’t there?” Stiles stated, the quip was sharp but the wind had left his sails so it came out meek and quiet. 

“One of the benefits of being a boss.” Derek stated dryly. 

Sitting on the bed, Stiles found himself playing absentmindedly with the hem of the duvet. He ran his fingers over the stitching and wondered what the thread count must be. At least a million he guessed. The bed he shared with Antoni in their apartment couldn’t hold a candle to this one. The lumpy mattress they got for free from a friend with his Duvet from high school nearly worn through with use never gave Stiles a restful sleep. The difference was astronomical. Why anyone living near the coast of Spain would need such a thick duvet was lost to Stiles. The duvet would be put to better use in Poland. Would he ever return to Poland? Stiles mulled this idea in his head. He always loved Spain, it made his heart sing, but all he wanted now was to be back in Poland. To be in his rundown apartment, to have pierogi with his friends, but above all, Stiles missed his dad. After his mother died when he was a child, Stiles clung to his father. He felt lost without his dad. Stiles looked up to Derek, clearing his throat. 

“Can I have my cellphone and laptop, please? Or just a phone? I need to talk to my dad.” He searched Dereks face for any indication of what the man was thinking as he sat in his chair. 

“You will have your cellphone and laptop when I decide you’re ready for it.” The sentence left Derek’s lips with no emotion, matching the poker face he was wearing. 

“No, you don’t understand. I just need to tell him I’m okay.” Stiles scrambled to the edge of the bed, wincing as his muscles pulled against his sore chest. “Please. I’m all he has.” Stiles begged, clasping his hands together. 

The sentence shouldn’t have made Derek jealous, but hearing that Stiles was all another man had sent a pang of anger through him. White hot and ugly, it curled in the bottom of Derek’s stomach as he stared at his sweet boy sitting at the edge of the bed. No man would ever lay claim to him, other than himself. 

“I have to take care of some things.” Choosing to ignore Stiles’s plea, Derek stood from his chair, abs rippling. “Get dressed, we will be leaving in two hours. If you need anything Scott will be here to assist you.”

“Leaving? Listen, man, I’m not going anywhere unless it’s Poland.” Standing quickly off the bed to stand in front of Derek, Stiles challenged him. 

“I wasn’t asking you. It was an order.” The latter part of the sentence was practically purred, Derek took a step forward to stand over top of Stiles. “Now be a good boy, and get dressed.” 

That was the final straw for Stiles. The straw that broke the camels back, if the camel was the emotional baggage that Stiles had been carting around. All of his anger towards Antoni, Derek, the loss of his autonomy, boiled over. His cheeks dusted with light pink as he bared his teeth to Derek. 

“I am not your property! I won’t ask how high every time you ask to jump. If you wanted someone to dominate you’ve got another thing coming, buddy. I am not your good boy.” Stiles jabbed a finger into Derek’s chest as he ranted. “And another thing, saying please every once in a while won’t kill you.” Stiles took a step forward, gaining confidence. “Fuck you, man. I’m not going anywhere.” During his tirade, Stiles never noticed the intense glare, teeming with Anger that Derek was giving him. 

Without saying a word, Derek stuck quickly and threw him bodily onto the bed. So enraged by the blatant disobedience that he was not accustomed to, Derek didn’t even consider Stiles’s injuries. Stiles pulled his knees to his chest as he wheezed, the wind knocked out from him as Derek pressed him into the mattress. Derek’s large hands pressed Stiles’s head into the mattress, by his cheek as the other one braced his body above Stiles. Everything had happened so suddenly that when Stiles fought back, he did so with everything he could. His legs kicked out trying to make contact with anything they could, as his fists beat on Derek’s chest. In his struggle, Stiles through his hand out slapping Derek across the face with his open palm. The second Stiles slapped Derek, everything stopped. Derek took several deep breaths before pushing his face up against the side of Stiles’s cheek. 

“If you hit me again-” Rage dripped off of every word Derek spoke, and Stiles, not knowing when enough was enough, cut him off, 

“You’ll what? Kill me?” Stiles spat. Crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Get dressed.” Derek growled, pushing off of the bed and adjusting his sweat pants. 

“I need my things then.” Stiles shot back sitting up straight, breathing heavily. 

Derek took a step toward the bed again but composed himself, taking a deep breath. “I am allowing you to adjust to your new life before I impose punishments for disobedience. You should be grateful.” Derek growled. “I will have Scott bring you to your things.” 

Derek stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind himself. Stiles let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and flopped backward onto the bed. 

Sometime later, a knock came at the door. Stiles crossed the room and opened the door marginally to see who was standing outside it. A tall man with tanned skin and dark hair stood outside his door. He had dark curly hair that was styled impeccably, framing his polite smile. This must be Scott, Stiles assumed, staring at him intently from the small crack in the door. Stiles recognized him as the man who didn’t lock his bedroom door last night. 

“So, Derek said I should show you to your things?” He cracked a smile to Stiles, gesturing with his arm out into the hallway. 

“Uh, yeah please.” Stiles stepped out into the hallway, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He hated wearing his glasses, and the sooner he could get his contacts the better. Forget what the doctor said, he’d rather melt his brain than not wear his contacts. Thinking back to his bag that held his toiletries, Stiles suddenly remembered something that hit him like a freight train. 

_ “I think you’re being paranoid, babe.” _ Antoni rolled his eyes in the hotel room the day that they arrived in Spain as Stiles unpacked his bag, hiding things in various places. “ _ Just use the safe, that’s what it’s there for.”  _

_ “The hotel knows the codes to the safes, for being safes, they’re not all that safe.”  _ The prior conversation rattled around Stiles’s head as he followed Scott. When they stopped, they had arrived at a spare bedroom where all of his things were packed in suitcases. Could he be lucky for a second time? 

“Get what you need and take it back to Derek’s bedroom. Bosses orders.” Scott told him, as Stiles started unzipping some of the bags. 

“I assumed this would be my room now since all of my things are here.” Stiles retorted, not looking up from the suitcases. 

“I know. That’s why Derek told me to tell you that.” 

What a bastard. Stiles thought, irritated that he always seemed to be one step ahead. As if he had a private view into Stiles’s mind. Was he that predictable? 

Hiding his excitement when he found his toiletries bag, Stiles looked up at Scott. 

“Can I take all of my things?” The question hung in the air as Scott thought it over. 

“Just what you need.” Scott shrugged “That’s all he said.” 

Rolling his eyes, he let Scott think he won the battle. Hell, Derek could think he won the war if he so pleased. Taking his toiletry bag and his change of clothes back to the bedroom on his supervised walk, Stiles held his breath. He continued holding his breath until he heard the bedroom door lock once again. 

“I’ll be back in an hour. Derek said he wants you to have breakfast before you two leave.” Scott’s voice was muffled by the door, that that it mattered much anyway. Stiles barely registered what he said as he ripped his toiletries bag open. 

_ “Oh please, please, please, PLEASE.”  _ Stiles begged the universe as he found the skincare bag he was searching for. Unzipping it with shaking hands, he dumped out the contents. He fished around the inside until he found what he was looking for, a small zippered pouch on the inside of the bag. Stiles held his breath once more as he opened the zipper slowly. Immediately relief washed over him as he cried out. The sense of liberation he felt when he found what he was looking for was indescribable. Stiles pulled his passport out of the bag along with his ticket for his flight home, hugging them tightly to his chest. He was getting the hell out of dodge, and not looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you all think!


	7. Playing with fire

Hot water pounded Stiles’s back as he leaned his forehead against the cool tile of the shower. He scrubbed his skin roughly until it was raw relishing in the stinging pain. The pain grounded him to reality, reminding him that he was still alive. He wanted to scrub any trace of Dereks lingering touches or gaze from his body, reclaiming it as his own. Water cleanses the body and the spirit, and Stiles was reveling in his newly found rapture. In the water, Stiles cried, tears mixing with the water as he hiccuped. They weren’t tears of sadness or resolve, they were tears of anger, running hot and fast down his face. Caught up in his own rage, Stiles punched the tile wall, and immediately regretted it. Shaking his hand he used his other hand to smack himself in the forehead. 

_ “Idiot!” _

An hour later exactly, Stiles was still getting ready. Sliding his lean legs into a pair of tight shorts, he topped off his outfit with an off the shoulder shirt that was so low cut it left most of his chest bare, his nipples barely covered by the thin fabric. He chose the outfit intentionally, knowing it would get a rise out of Derek, or anyone they saw in public for that matter. Only he would decide what he showed off and what was kept private, no one else’s opinions mattered. In a final show of defiance, Stiles rummaged through his toiletries bag and found another pair of contacts. The next thing he busied himself with was creating a mini emergency bag. Using a blade from Derek’s razor, he sliced a hole inside his fanny-pack he used for his emergency medications. He was careful to keep the slice to only the inside liner, creating a secret pocket to store his passport and plane ticket. He would take no chances with them being found. He knew Derek was probably looking for them, and he was not going to allow him the satisfaction of finding them and confiscating them. His pack had ample space for his eyeglass case as well as his medications, the only thing Stiles needed to figure out was cash. Derek had confiscated his wallet when he confiscated his electronics leaving Stiles broke and alone. Time was a cruel mistress as she was not on his side, he was running out of time quickly. The clock ticked closer to his departure time: One day, 20 hours, and thirty minutes. Stiles could do this. He’s done more with less. 

As he was clipping his fanny-pack to his waist, a knock broke the silence. Stiles ran a hand through his hair, before calling out:

“Yeah?” 

“Are you decent? I’m opening the door.” Scott warned as he unlocked the heavy wooden door and opening it slightly. 

“Jeeze, glad to see you would have waited if I wasn’t.” Stiles huffed, sliding into his favorite beat-up sneakers. 

“Uh, your uh, breakfast is ready.” Scott stumbled over his words as he saw Stiles’s outfit. 

“Cool thanks.” Stiles breezed past him into the hallway. “Are you coming?” 

Outside in the garden, there was a table set lavishly for breakfast. The small table was covered with any breakfast food imaginable. Stiles sat uncomfortably in his seat. 

“I think your boss is trying to make me fat.” He frowned.

“I think he just wants to make sure you are well taken care of.” 

Stiles snorted in contempt and picked up an apple. Of course, Derek would go over the top. He rolled his eyes before taking a few bites of the apple, he never did like eating in the morning anyway. 

“What did you do to your hand? My boss is going to kill me.” Scott clapped a hand to his forehead before taking a closer look at the large purple bruise blossoming under his skin. 

“Yeah well, you should see the other guy.” Stiles held up two fists, mimicking a boxer’s stance. The look of fear still hadn’t left Scott’s eyes, leaving stiles feeling uncomfortable. 

“ _ If you play with fire, you are bound to get burned,  _ _ Mieczyslaw.” _ The elder Stilinski would tell Stiles this on a nearly daily basis. His son’s near-constant need to meddle in something that didn’t involve him, or his affinity for getting himself into trouble made for many lectures. Stiles always rolled his eyes when his dad would lecture him, but now he would kill for one. His dad would know what to do. 

“Did you hear me?” Scott asked, snapping his fingers in front of Stiles’s eyes. 

“I mean yeah, for sure. One hundred percent, but maybe you should repeat it just so I know that I’m understanding?” Stiles gave an awkward smile, eyebrows raising. 

“He asked if you wanted a bandage for your hand.” The low rumble of Derek’s voice suddenly behind him made Stiles jump in his seat. He shot an angry look at Scott, assessing his face for any marks as if to check that he didn’t do anything that would warrant Stiles punching him. 

“Jesus, can’t a guy get a warning? Sure let’s sneak up on the kid with a condition. Asshole.” Stiles raised a hand to his chest, sinking down in his chair to put more distance between himself and Derek. 

“How did it happen? Derek asked, gently taking Stiles’s hand in his own, removing it from his chest. He turned the appendage, inspecting every inch, and frowning at the swelling. 

“I slipped.” The lie was an easy one, easy to explain. Not that it needed explaining, choosing instead to keep it a secret, simply for the sake of it being something he knew that Derek did not. Petty as it may be, it made Stiles feel good. Tugging his hand out of Derek’s grip, stiles tucked it into his lap to hide it. He didn’t need to be treated like glass after all. Stiles considered himself to be an open book, never caring before if people knew everything about him. 

_ “I have nothing to hide.”  _ The old Stiles would boast about being an open book, but now he made a career out of building walls around himself. The less Derek knew the better, even if it was something simple. 

A silent gesture of a hand wave from Derek was all Scott needed to leave. Pulling out the chair opposite to Stiles, Derek sat down. “We have ground rules we have to discuss before we depart later today.” Stiles snapped his eyes up to Derek, mouth hanging slightly open. 

“Rules? What am I? Five?” Stiles scoffed.

“Stop talking. There will be more, but these are what I expect of you now.” Derek took a moment to study Stiles’s face before continuing “You will obey me, Disobedience is not optional. My business will put you in danger. I will do my best to shield you from it, but you need to obey me. You will not leave the property without me, or one of my men. Ever. And finally, for now, you are not to speak to anyone outside of myself or my staff. If you behave today, we can discuss a phonecall to your father. If any of these ground rules are broken there will be punishments. Understood?” 

“Yeah sure fine, whatever.” Stiles slumped into his chair, clearly annoyed. 

“I’m not kidding.” Derek warned, eyes flashing. 

Stiles gulped, deciding that his best option for the long term goal of catching his plane back to Poland in just under two days is worth caving to Derek’s wishes, 

“Yes. I understand.” The grumble was so quiet Derek almost didn’t hear it. 

“Yes, who?” Derek asked, leading Stiles on. 

“Yes, sir.” If anyone had asked, Derek would tell them he could die happy right at this moment. Hearing his sweet boy call him sir for the first time sent such a jolt of electricity straight down his spine and into his pants so quickly he’s surprised he didn’t faint from the lack of blood flow to his brain. Noticing the dark, blown-out look in Derek’s eyes, and how he raked his eyes over Stiles’s body made Stiles feel exposed. Pulling a knee up, Stiles hugged it, curling his upper body over the appendage to cover himself up the best he could. 

“Come. We are leaving.” Standing from his chair, Derek extended a hand to Stiles to help him stand from his own chair.

“Where are we going?” Stiles stood on his own, adjusting his clothing after they had wrinkled from sitting. Derek drank in the outfit Stiles was wearing, his long legs on display, and his lithe chest covered by the thinnest piece of fabric Derek had ever seen. The sight was intoxicating. 

“I have ordered clothing for you that needs to be picked up. You will need them for when we depart tomorrow.” 

“I already told you I wasn’t traveling anywhere unless it’s back to Poland.” Stiles planted his feet into the ground, crossing his arms across his chest. “You’ll have to drag me.” 

“Fine.” The single word was spat out of Derek’s mouth as if it tasted bad. He moved forward quickly, grabbing Stiles’s upper arm and quite literally dragging him to the waiting vehicle. He was growing tired of the disobedience. Now that Stiles knew the beginnings of his rules, there would be no excuse. Derek ached to bend him over his knee and turn him into the compliant sweet boy he had been dreaming of. 

Sitting in the SUV next to Derek in the back seat made him feel like a child. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat in the back seat of a car unless it was for a cab ride. As with everything else in Derek’s life, he had someone to take care of this too. Stiles glared at the back of the driver’s head, wishing it would explode with all of the anger he directed at it. Not that the gentleman deserved it per se, he had done nothing to Stiles other than work for Derek. But for Stiles, that was reason enough. Derek sat next to him, wearing his impeccably tailored suit, with sunglasses that had to be outrageously expensive perched on his nose. Stiles felt like a cheap hooker sitting next to him. 

Stiles didn’t come from much in Poland. He waited tables at a restaurant during the day and at night worked as a bottle boy in a club. He worked hard, for little reward, but was content with his life. Or at least that’s what he told himself. He rested his head on the window trying to find any clues as to where they were. The buildings looked like any other Spanish building, the beaches looked the same, nothing stuck out to Stiles. On the road ahead, Stiles could see a road sign. Pressing his cheek to the glass, Stiles practically crawled out of his seat to get a better look at the sign. 

The white sign was unassuming, with dark lettering standing out, allowing it to be read from a distance. But to Stiles, it felt like a death sentence. Judge, jury, and executioner staring at him with reflective paint. 

“Palma 25km” 

Stiles was in Mallorca. An island off the mainland coast of Spain. An island. Stiles was well and truly trapped here. His ticket was to fly out of Madrid, not Palma. His head spun and his throat threatened to close. He couldn’t fly out of Palma to Madrid with no money, and that left him open to getting caught if he had to Stop in Madrid. There wouldn’t be a direct flight to Warsaw from the small airport in Palma, and even if there was, he had no money. The color drained from his face as he panicked further. The realization that he had no choice but to travel to wherever Derek had intended them to go the next day sat heavy in his stomach. He still didn’t know where that would be, but he needed to get back to the mainland. It was his only option. 

“Are you feeling alright?” The sudden feeling of Derek pulling him closer made him feel sick. The car spun as Stiles ran his fingers through his hair. No, he wasn’t alright, he was far from alright, but Derk would never understand that. Derek nestled his nose into Stiles’s hair, gently pulling his hands from his tresses. His fingertips left trails of fire up and down Stiles’s arm. Stiles swore they were branding him, causing his entire body to shiver

After driving further, they arrived in the city of Palma. Stiles found himself in the fitting room of an upscale tailor, with outfit after outfit being shoved onto his body. The clothes made him feel itchy like he was crawling out of his skin. Derek would either nod in approval or wave to have them be taken off of him. Like Stiles was just a doll, here for Derek’s amusement. 

“Glad I get a say in anything.” Stiles grumbled as another shirt was yanked over his head and quickly replaced with a new one. 

“My money, my rules.” 

“Yeah well, I had money, until someone decided to take it. If you needed it you could have just asked.” Stiles shot back, the glare he received well worth the jab. 

“You have no need for money.” If looks could kill, Stiles would be dead. 

After trying on what felt like hundreds of outfits, and having the ones carefully selected by Derek at the front counter, Stiles sat in the dressing room in his underwear. Just taking a moment to himself to collect his thoughts. If he was in Palma, and they were traveling somewhere, then odds are they would be going to a major city they would have to land a plane somewhere. His thoughts were interrupted by a small stack of clothing, passed through the heavy curtains of the dressing room, acting as a door. The stack of fabric, Stiles quickly realized were thin, lacy thongs, and panties. 

Curiosity got the better of him as he tried a pair on, intending to take them off quickly and put his own clothes back on. Where stiles fumbled with his plan, however, was taking a moment to stare at himself in the mirror. Staring at how the panties hugged the swell of his ass gently. They looked as if they had been made custom just for him. 

_ “Because they had been.” _ A small voice reminded him. 

As he stared, Derek stepped into the Dressing room, shattering Stiles’s sense of privacy. 

“What are you doing? Get out!” Stiles shrieked, scrambling to cover himself. 

Derek walked forward, for every step forward, stiles took a step back until they were pressed up against the mirrored wall. 

“Get out! Or I’ll shove these panties so far down your throat you’ll shit them out. Get out!” Stiles took a step forward to push against Derek’s chest, to no avail. Derek shoved him against the mirror so hard his head bounced against it making him see stars. 

“I’ll see them when I want to see them.” Derek growled, pressing his hand to Stiles’s throat. His breath hot against Stiles’s cheek, their lips barely touching as they stood in the dressing room. Giving Stiles an intense look, Derek backed up and left the dressing room. 

Stiles dressed so quickly it was a blur. Absolutely enraged by Derek’s actions, the expectation that he would have access to his body whenever he chose, the loss of his independence, the list went on. Stiles stomped out of the dressing room throwing the underwear in Derek’s face. 

“If you want to see them so badly, wear them yourself, asshole.” The words were spiteful, and Stiles knew they would get him in trouble, but right now he didn’t care. At the moment, he didn’t care about Derek’s rules, his plane ticket, or even where he was. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Derek told his men to sit as they stood to wrangle Stiles. This was something he had to take care of.

Feet pounding the marble, Stiles stomped right out of the tailor shop and onto the street. The only thing on his mind at that moment was getting as much space between himself and Derek as he possibly could. He ran. He ran until his lungs screamed and every breath hurt. Paying no mind to the street names or signs he passed, his only goal was distance. Reaching a small square, Stiles saw two police officers standing idly in the center. Slowing his run to a jog, he stopped in front of them, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. 

“Please. You need to help me.” He gasped out, heart pounding. “I’ve been kidnapped.” 

The younger of the police officers started to pull an incident report pad out of his breast pocket but stopped when he was tapped on the shoulder by the older officer. 

“ Good afternoon, sir.” Was all the old man stated before walking away from Stiles, ushering the younger officer away with him. Stiles didn’t need to turn around to know why they walked away. Derek would take him to a city that he had under his thumb, it would be dumb not to. 

“Are you lost, sweet boy?” 

Stiles froze in his spot. Running was futile, that much was evident. Derek slowly stalked up to him, stopping a few paces away. His hands slid into the pockets of his slacks as stared at Stiles. 

“The faster you accept the situation, the better it will be for you. You have to make the best out of what fate has decided for you. You can either make this easy for yourself or you can keep fighting. Either way, you will submit eventually. ”    
  
A flash of anger shot through Stiles. “Don’t you mean the situation that you decided for me?” He scoffed, throwing his hands into the air. “You can’t honestly expect me to just be okay with this! Ooooh, Derek! You’re so brave and strong and handsome!” Stiles mocked. “Thank you so much for taking me from my life!” Stiles’s bottom lip trembled slightly, much to Derek’s chagrin. 

“You will learn to love it, I promise.” Derek reached out a hand for Stiles to take. “What can I do to help you accept this.” 

The question swirled around Stiles’s head. Considering carefully what he could ask he answered with the only thing he wanted. The only thing he’s wanted since all of this started. 

“Please. Just let me call my dad.” Stiles begged, head sagging in defeat. 

“We will discuss it after dinner. A quick step forward was all it took for Derek to softly take Stiles’s hand in his own, gently kissing his bruised knuckles. He gently led Stiles back to the SUV, to load up his boy and take him back home. 

“We need to pack your clothes for tomorrow.” Derek stated calmly, putting his sunglasses back on and settling himself in the back seat of the SUV. 

  
Words escaped Stiles as he held on to the idea of talking to his dad later. His dad would know what to do, he was sure of it. 


	8. Trust

The drive back to the compound felt incredibly short. Stiles had wished it would drag on forever before he was returned to his gilded cage, clipped wings and all. Standing beside the dark black SUV, Stiles stared up at the fortress and how it loomed over him, towering imposingly. He made a vow that tomorrow he wouldn't let it intimidate him, he swore he would never see it again. 

A gentle, yet firm hand on his lower back brought him back to reality. 

“You think too much.” Lips brushed Stiles’s ear making him blush. 

Reaching up a hand, Stiles loosely swatted at Derek’s face, shooing him away from being so close. The closeness made Stiles uncomfortable. Derek’s body heat made him feel like he was on fire, burning up from the inside out and he was desperate to douse the flames that burned within his belly. The second Derek stepped away marginally, Stiles waited for the weight to be lifted from his shoulders, though the relief never came. Instead, a clawing emptiness ached in his chest. Did he want Derek that close? He told himself over and over again that he didn’t want Derek anywhere near him, but his heart whispered otherwise. He played with fire, and Stiles feared he had already been burned. 

“I have business I need to take care of.” Derek used his thumb to brush against the small of Stiles’s back. “Scott will take you to our bedroom. Dress for dinner. Nicely.” The command of the last part of Derek’s sentence was lost on Stiles. He was still stuck on Derek calling the bedroom, our bedroom. Was it theirs? They both slept in it, but Stiles refused to acknowledge it as his. His bedroom was in Poland, with his lumpy mattress and threadbare sheets. Second guesses came slithering into Stiles’s head as he thought about the word “our”. Stiles vaguely registered the feeling of Derek’s hand leaving his lower back as he stood, still staring at the fortress. It reminded him of the walls he was trying to construct around himself, that Derek was removing brick by brick. 

“You don’t look so good.” Scott, it was Scott talking to him now. 

“I’m fine. Let’s just go.” While trying not to watch Derek’s receding figure as he entered the compound, Stiles started walking. He brought his arms around himself, adding a physical barrier to the wall he had been building around his heart. Wishing that his arms would hold up the foundation he felt crumbling at the hands of Derek Hale. 

Dinner that evening was in the garden, just as breakfast had been earlier that day. Dripping in candlelight the garden was softly lit, oozing romance. Derek sat at the head of a large table that could hold far more people than the two it was set for. Just as with breakfast, the table was covered in just about any food you could imagine. Derek quickly stood from his seat when Stiles approached. Stiles was wearing impeccably tailored trousers and a silk button-down shirt dyed with such a deep red it looked like blood against his pale skin. He never did get his Spanish tan he was looking forward to. The first few buttons were undone, exposing his collar bones and thin chest much to Derek’s delight. Derek stepped to Stiles, closing the gap between them. An involuntary finch from Stiles made him tense, as he was not expecting a gentle hand to take his own and lead him to his seat at the other head of the table. Equals in this setting. 

Derek took the time to carefully pour Stiles a glass of wine, a deep red matching the boy’s shirt before handing it to him and sitting back down in his own seat. He watched Stiles’s beautiful, yet clumsy hands shakily raise the glass to take a sip. He could tell Stiles was doing his best to anticipate his actions before they occurred, the thought should annoy him, but he preened under his boy’s vigilant eye. He’ll take Stiles studying him in any context, as long as those honey-colored eyes were on him. Clearing his throat, he waved for his chef to approach the table, cloche in hand. 

“I took the liberty of looking through your social media.” Derek began, taking a sip of his own wine. “I wanted to know what your favorite food was.” 

The chef stopped at Stiles plate, and opened the cloche, presenting Stiles with the fanciest plate of a burger and French fries he has ever seen in his life. The fries were cut so precisely that they were each the exact same size and shape, and were even stacked on top of each other making a small squared-off structure. Stiles took a fry and ate it slowly, his eyes never leaving Derek’s. 

“If you had asked, you wouldn’t have had to waste your time stalking me online.” Stiles finished the fry in his hand.

“Is it good?” Derek asked, nearly on the edge of his seat. An emotion that he couldn’t remember feeling in a long time squeezed his chest. Nervous. Why was he nervous? It was just a plate of fries and a burger after all. 

“It’s okay. But don’t worry, you don’t have to kill him.” A playful smile made its way on to Stiles’s lips. “But you can’t make a burger and fries fancy, Derek. I’ll have to take you to the diner in Poland that has the best ones.” Did he want Derek to go to the Diner with him? Or was he just looking for an excuse to get to Poland? Stiles couldn’t decide. 

Derek frowned, waving away the chef with his hand. Adjusting himself in his seat, he checked his cellphone. It had been vibrating against his pocket for nearly a full minute by now.

Kate: Are you going to answer me?? I’m not giving up on us.

Derek silenced his phone before put it away, redirecting his attention back to Stiles. Irritation coursed through his veins that Kate had intruded in on their moment. He would deal with her later. 

“So um, what is it you actually do. You know, besides kidnapping college kids and shooting people.” Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his seat not sure if his joke landed with Derek. He had never seen Derek smile, let alone laugh. The man was practically a brick wall when it came to emotions other than anger. 

“Last I check you are not a college student.” Derek raised his glass to take a sip of wine. 

“I’m serious Derek. If you expect me to go along with this, I at least have a right to know what I’m getting myself into.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, setting his jaw defiantly. 

“I own and run businesses. Hotels, clubs, restaurants. I am like the CEO.” 

“Of killing people?” An eyebrow quirked on Stiles’s fair features. “Because none of those things include that.”    
  
Derek took a deep breath, this boy was going to be the death of him. He waited until his temper was reigned in before speaking again. “I was chosen to be the head of this family after my mother died. The details you do not need to know. It is dangerous, and it will put you in danger. I did not ask to be the head of this family, but I had no choice.” 

“I didn’t ask to go to Mallorca either, but here we are.” Stiles took another sip of his wine. The alcohol giving him a false sense of confidence as his mouth and lips started to go numb. Under normal circumstances, he wasn’t a lightweight, but right now he was tipsy on his single glass of wine. 

“You’ll change your mind.” Derek said confidently, smiling softly. Images of he and Stiles growing old on the coast filled his head, having a family of their own, dancing in the moonlight, or having sex in the ocean. He wanted all of it, with his boy. His beautiful, feisty, perfect boy. He would be lost without him. “I just need you to help me. Just a little.” The words were whispered so lowly, Stiles had to strain to hear them. “All I ask of you, is your trust.” 

Stiles blinked, not expecting the answer he received. Trust? That’s all he asked? It felt like he was asking for a lot more than trust, Stiles contemplated. His eyebrows furrowed when Derek stood from his seat, sauntering to where he sat. Placing a hand on the back of Stiles’s chair, Derek circled him. Stiles felt like he was in the ocean being circled by a shark, and he was about to be devoured whole. Using an arm to brace himself on the arm of Stile’s chair, Derek leaned into him, lips just grazing Stiles’s cheek.

“I want to be gentle. For you. I need you to teach me.” His voice was low and raspy against Stiles’s ear, vibrating through his body right into his soul. Placing a gentle kiss on Stiles’s temple, Derek stood. 

“Finish your dinner. I have a surprise for you, though I need to be there when you enjoy it.” Derek left Stiles’s side to walk back to his seat, to eat his own plate of food. 

After they had finished dinner, Derek led Stiles back upstairs to their bedroom. Opening the door, he allowed Stiles to enter first. Stiles’s knees buckled when he saw the object sitting on the edge of the bed. He never thought he would be so excited to see his cellphone in all his life. 

“The location settings are disabled, and although I am not giving you total control over it yet, you may call your father. In English please.” Derek sat in the chair next to the bed that he had vigilantly watched over Stiles their first night together. 

“My dad doesn’t speak English.” Staring at the phone like it was going to jump off the bed and bite him if he touched it, Stiles approached it cautiously. 

“If you tell him anything, I will know. Don’t do anything stupid, Stiles.” Derek crossed one leg over the other. With a silent wave, he gave Stiles permission to pick up the phone. 

Lunging the rest of the way to the bed, Stiles picked up the phone and dialed the only number he knew by heart. His heart thundered in his ears as one ring went by, followed by two, and halfway through the third ring, the call was answered. 

_ “ _ _ Mieczyslaw _ _?”  _ His father sounded worried, understandably so. It was just going past 48 hours since anyone had heard from him. Instant relief flooded Stiles at the sound of his dad’s voice, making him feel safe for the first time since this ordeal started. 

“ _ Hi, Papa.”  _ Stiles tried to smile through watery eyes, willing away his tears and sniffling softly. For years, Stiles had called the elder Stilinski, Dad, reserving calling him Papa only for certain circumstances. This moment being one of them. 

“ _ Where the hell have you been?”  _ The worry that was previously in his voice now turned into anger at his son’s use of Papa to try and put a bandaid on the situation. 

_ “Spain, dad. I’m in Spain.”  _ Shooting a look to Derek, wondering how much he could truly understand. When it appeared that Derek didn’t recognize the word Spain, Stiles did what he does best, and pushed his luck.  _ “Promise me you won’t freak out, they’re listening.” _ The words came out casually as if he was talking about the weather. “ _ But I’m in a lot of trouble dad.”  _

The police officer that the elder Stilinski had been trained to become instantly came out as he kept his tone level. “ _ Where are you, can you say?”  _

_ “No. No, I can’t. Meet me in Warsaw in two days. My plane lands at 5 am.”  _ Stiles’s heartbeat climbed when he saw Derek look at him out of the corner of his eye, his dark eyes were narrowed at him. He was growing suspicious. 

_ “How’s mama?”  _ The question was thrown in to include a word that Derek would understand, to throw him off the trail for a few moments longer. Derek saw right through Stiles’s red herring and stood from his chair. 

“ _ I have to go. I love you, papa.”  _ Stiles choked out, as the phone was pulled from his hands. 

“You told me you were all your father had. You said nothing about your mother. What did you say to him.” Rage danced behind Derek’s eyes, as he used his body to crowd Stiles closer to the bed until his knees were knocked out from under him. He fell onto the bed, giving Derek ample space to tower over him, nose to nose. Derek’s nostrils flared with anger as he searched Stiles’s face for any evidence of a lie. 

“I told her to kiss her. Her birthday is tomorrow. She’s dead” Stiles cried out, pushing against Derek’s chest. Derek grabbed Stiles’s face, pinching his cheeks together with his forefinger and thumb. 

“If I find that you lied, I will punish you so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week.” The growl terrified Stiles. Derek had mention punishments but had never elaborated on what those may be, and Stiles did not want to find out. 

“I didn’t lie!” Stiles cried, tears washing down his cheeks like rain. “I swear I didn’t lie!” Derek took one look at Stiles’s red, tear-stained face before coming to his senses. Gathering his boy into his arms, he allowed Stiles to sob into his chest openly, rubbing his back and whispering apologies. He could trust his sweet boy, couldn’t he? 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends!  
> Unfortunately, I start back at work tomorrow and my school semester also just stared. I'm going to try my best to update daily as I have been, but there may be a day or two in between chapters. I'm sorry! The next chapter should be up tomorrow night! 
> 
> Thank you!


	9. Walking into the lions den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter starts to get a little spicy, if that's not your thing please don't read! Thank you!

Stiles slept surprisingly well that night. The bed was warm, soft, and inviting, and if it were up to Stiles, he would sleep forever if that was an option. He didn’t necessarily want to sleep in Derek’s bed, per se, but the comfort he felt was unmatched. Reaching up, he rubbed at his eye sleepily before cracking one open. His eyes adjusted slowly to the pale early morning light creeping into the room from behind the curtains as he woke up. Turning away from the light hitting his face, in an attempt to get a few more minutes of sleep, Stiles rolled right into Derek’s sleeping form. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep the night before, which subsequently meant he didn’t feel Derek slip under the covers with him. A large muscled arm was tossed above his head as he slept shirtless, exposing all of the muscles that were hidden under his crisp suits and button-down shirts. He watched him breathe slowly, chest rising and falling, for what felt like hours. Derek looked peaceful in his sleep. His face wasn’t pinched in anger or annoyance, instead, it was smooth and relaxed. Stiles moved his eyes lower, taking in Derek’s mouth. His lips were slightly parted as he snored lightly, and Stiles thought about the kiss against the pillar again. Pleasure ran down his spine and straight to the morning wood he was sporting. It was a common occurrence for a man of his age, but it felt as if his body was betraying him. Of all places he shouldn’t get an erection, next to your kidnapper should be at the top of the list. Above churches. 

Thinking of cold showers and his grandmother, Sties’s eyes continued lower. He looked at the different tattoos etched into the muscles on Derek’s chest. Without touching his skin, Stiles reaches a finger out to hover over the top of one of them and trace it. It looked like three swirls converging into one, in a thick black outline. Below that tattoo on his chest, a second tattoo stuck out to Stiles. It was placed right below a large scar marring his side. The scar spiderwebbed outwards, almost as if lightning from god himself struck Derek in the side. The tattoo below the scar was just as interesting as the scar itself. In a delicate, feminine hand, the tattoo read: 

La Familia primero

Stiles didn’t need to speak Spanish to understand what it meant. Family first. The cornerstone of what Derek supposedly stood for. Was he included in that family now or would Derek eventually grow tired of him? Shaking the intrusive thoughts from his head, Stiles reminded himself that it would be for the best if Derek grew tired of him. He was returning to Poland. He didn’t want to stay here. He tamped down on the quiet voice in the back of his head asking if that’s what he really wanted. 

Quietly slipping out of bed, Stiles noted he wasn’t in the clothes he wore to dinner that night. Instead, he was in a pair of the lacey panties Derek had custom made for him, and an undershirt several sizes too large for him. One of Derek’s undershirts again no doubt. Until this moment, Stiles never even considered the fact that of all of the clothes Derek had bought for him, pajamas weren’t ever purchased. Making his way to the bathroom, Stiles stopped to stare at himself in the mirror, barely recognizing himself. He looked tired, and he was, but this was deeper than lack of sleep. His body, mind, and soul were tired. His sleep roughed hair stood on end, and the shirt hung loosely on his small frame, just long enough to cover his crotch. He tossed off the shirt and stood in his panties, staring at himself again in the mirror. He had worn panties a few times for Antoni, but Antoni was never interested.

_ “If I wanted to fuck a woman, I would fuck a woman.”  _ He would say callously. 

Stiles shuddered as the memory wormed his way into his mind, followed by the thought of Antoni actually sleeping with a woman, as Derek had shown him. He made the choice to ignore it as he started opening cupboards in the bathroom. Under the sink, he found more bubble bath than any could ever possibly use in their life, and Stiles made up his mind. He was going to use the ginormous bathtub and clear his head. He closed the bathroom door, locking it once it was shut. Deep down he knew that Derek probably had a key and would come in anyway, though a small part of him hoped he would respect his privacy. 

Hot water filled the tub quickly, filling the room with steam as Stiles waited. He ran his hand under the tap, checking the temperature before pouring copious amounts of bubble bath into the water. Once it had filled to his liking, stiles shimmied out of the lace panties he had on and slipped quietly into the tub.  Closing his eyes and tilting his head back, Stiles thought about his dad. If he stayed with his dad, there would be a huge target painted on the back of the elder Stilinski or anyone he stayed with for that matter. He would be well and truly alone once he returned to Warsaw. Freedom came at a price, and his would be loneliness. 

The unmistakable sound of a lock clicking out of place brought Stiles from his thoughts as Derek Opened the bathroom door. Sinking beneath the bubbles, Stiles peeked at Derek guiltily. Locking doors wasn’t an expressed rule, but the feeling of disappointing Derek made him uneasy. 

“Didn’t your mom ever teach you to knock before coming in?” Stiles gathered the piles of bubbles around himself to give himself a sense of modesty. No response came from the older man, he just stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Shucking off his sweat pants, Derek bore himself to Stiles as naked as the day he was born.  A deep red flush stained Stiles’s cheeks as he stared at Derek. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the man’s impressively large manhood displayed before him. 

“Why are you staring at it.” Derek’s deep purr glided over Stiles like warm honey, dripping with eroticism. Stiles floundered, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, unable to respond as Derek stepped forward. 

“Do you want to touch it?” Dark brown eyes were blown out with lust as he approached the tub slowly, stalking his prey. 

Sinking lower into the bubbles, Stiles wished they would swallow him alive. A dark pink flush decorated Stiles’s cheeks, growing darker with Derek’s every step. Words evaded Stiles as he brought his knees to his chest, resting his right cheek on the top of them, No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t drag his eyes from Derek’s naked form. It was like a car crash, a beautifully devastating car crash with miles of muscles. He knew he shouldn’t be looking and yet he couldn’t bring himself to look away. 

“Do you mind if I come in?” Derek purred, voice husky and dripping with lust. 

“I’d rather take a shower.” Stiles stands abruptly, blindly grabbing for a towel with one hand while covering himself with the other. 

The taller of the two men said nothing and walked into the large, glass-encased shower. Sighing and puffing out his chest, Stiles walked into the lion’s den. He told himself it was just like using the gym showers during lacrosse and stepped into the shower. 

Steam already fogged up the glass, causing beads of condensation to roll down the glass. Through the steam, Stiles found the second showerhead and sent a silent thought of thanks to whoever designed the shower to have two showerheads. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the water pounding down on top of his head and washing over him. 

Derek’s mouth went dry watching stiles under the spray of the shower. Watching his soapy hands glide over his body was intoxicating and Derek was instantly addicted. He noticed the shy peeks at his form from under Stiles’s wet eyelashes, and they drove him wild. He could stare at Stiles’s body all day. His small yet toned chest, lean stomach, his manhood nestled in a patch of dark curls that trailed its way up to below his belly button, he was beautiful. 

At what felt like the thousandth peek from Stiles at his body, Derek couldn’t control himself any longer. Confidently he strutted up to Stiles. Crowding him against the wall, using his body to push Stiles out of the water and subsequently put himself under it. 

“Why do you keep looking at it if you don’t want to touch it?” Derek’s voice, deep and low, echoed off the glass walls. 

Blinking up at Derek, Stiles contemplated his next move carefully. If he gave in now, Derek would win. Did he want Derek to win? To feel Derek’s hands covering his whole body, to feel his mouth on every inch of him? Stiles wasn’t sure anymore. The thought of Derek both disgusted him and aroused him equally. As he was stomping down the voice trying to convince him into giving in to his desires, the devil on his shoulder chimed in. Why give in to Derek’s desires when it would be far more empowering to let him think he was winning, only to pull the rug out from under him and laugh when he toppled off his high horse?

Making his decision, Stiles reached out to touch Derek’s chest and dragged his hands slowly down his muscles feeling his skin for the first time on his terms. His hands went lower as he stared Derek in the eye, biting his lip to add to his lewd show. His hands made their way behind Derek to rest just above his perfectly sculpted ass. Their breaths grew heavy as Derek became so hard his head looked purple. 

Before Derek could go in for the kill, Stiles felt like David about to beat goliath. Slipping out from between the rock and the hard place he found himself in, Stiles walked away from Derek, after cranking the water from the showerhead to ice cold. 

Confidently strutting away, Stiles made it a few steps away before he was roughly yanked back to Derek. His strong hand bringing them nose to nose as Stiles realized the severity of his decision. Rage poured out of every pore in Derek’s body as he backed Stiles against the cool tile of the shower wall. 

“I have tried being nice, and that is obviously not working.” Derek snarled, spinning Stiles abruptly and pushing his face into the wall with such force Stiles was impressed he still had his teeth. 

Large calloused hands gripped Stiles’s hips as he tugged him towards himself, pushing his head down until his body made a right angle. 

“Hands on the wall, sweet boy.” It wasn't a request.

Stiles’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, climbing so quickly it felt like his heart would explode. He felt incredibly exposed to Derek, all parts of him showing. A large hand gently cupping his bottom caused him to jump against the touch as he was brought back into reality. 

“Twenty-five for teasing me.” Derek hissed against Stiles’s ear, breath hot. The first swat landed so hard and fast that Stiles felt like his ass was on fire. The sting was severe, but not entirely unwelcome. The conflicted feelings along with Derek’s actions in the shower steam made Stiles’s head swim. Stiles hadn’t been spanked since he was a child, and at this moment, he felt like a little boy with his nose in the corner. The following slaps came fast and hard as Stiles gasped, clenching his teeth, He refused to give Derek the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Swat after swat was landed to his ass, turning his pale flesh a deep angry red, a fierce flush that matched the color splashed across Stiles's cheeks in humiliation. 

When Derek had finished, Stiles straightened his back and stood head held level. He was not going to bow to Derek Hale the Great, even if it meant losing everything. Soft hands contrasted his actions from just moments earlier as Derek pulled Stiles into his chest. He pet Stiles’s hair, and kissed his temple softly, whispering about how well he did. Stiles pushed him away and stormed out of the shower, grabbing his towel from earlier. Wrapping it tightly around himself, Stiles hissed when the fabric rubbed against his raw bottom. The fluffy towel suddenly feeling like sandpaper. 

“Get dressed. Our plane departs soon.” The sentence was nonchalant as if Derek hadn’t just spanked him like a toddler as Derek started about his morning routine.

“As if, asshole. If you want me to get on that plane, you’ll have to drag me." 

  
  



	10. Playing stupid games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly sorry this update took so long to post! My schedule at work was super crazy, but my schedule is back to normal now... Expect daily updates to be back now! Thank you! Hope you enjoy!

The sun hung hot in the air as Derek stood on the tarmac next to his private plane. To Derek’s right was Peter, dressed very similarly to the younger Hale. They both wore black slim-cut suits, with white pressed shirts beneath it. Both men, dressed to kill. to Heat radiated off of the tarmac, as Derek pushed his unbuttoned suit coat out of the way to put his hands on his hips as he watched the second black SUV pull to a stop behind the one that brought himself. Glowering behind his sunglasses, he could hear Stiles before the SUV even came to a stop. 

Scott climbed quickly out of the front passenger seat of the SUV, adjusting his dark blue suit with a brightly patterned floral shirt beneath it before meeting Derek and Peter. He shook their hands before standing to Derek’s left, clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

“Sorry, we're late.  You, my friend, have your hands full.” Scott teased as he stuck a pinky in his ear, wiggling it around trying to hear normally again. The screaming must not have been an isolated incident upon reaching the airport. 

Stiles was pulled unceremoniously from the back seat of the SUV by one of Derek’s bodyguards, tossed over his shoulder like a rag doll. The moment he was pulled out of the van, Stiles’s shrieks became higher pitched and louder. If that was even possible. 

_ “Put me down, you fucker! I’ll kill you! Don’t ask me how because I haven’t figured it out yet, but I swear to god I will kill you!”  _ The angrier Stiles got, the faster Polish flew out of his mouth. He threw out his gangly limbs, trying to catch them on anything he could reach to stop himself from being brought into the plane. Realistically, getting the hell out of Mallorca was Stiles’s best bet on returning to Madrid, but he would have liked to do it on his own accord. The cold feeling of dread pitted at the bottom of his stomach made his screams more desperate. Where was Derek flying them? If they left Spain Stiles would be fucked. Well and truly fucked. And not in a fun way. In one last futile attempt to stay out of the plane, Stiles gripped the outside of the doorway, his hands disappearing into the plane as he was slowly dragged inside.

“He has quite the temper.” Scott smirked and raised an eyebrow at Derek, waiting for a response. 

“At least I won’t get bored.” Derek sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“ You dug this grave, I don’t see why we have to lie in it.” Peter huffed, annoyed at Stiles’s actions. 

“ Let’s go, we’re leaving.” Derek commanded before joining his boy in the plane. 

On the Plane, Derek has his boy strapped into his seat with not only his own seat belt but the one from the seat next to him as well. The straps crisscrossed across his chest before buckling into their opposite receivers. For good measure, Derek also had Stiles’s hands handcuffed together. As he walked up to his boy, Derek wondered what Stiles would look like, tied up, and handcuffed on his bed, wrapped like a present, wanton, and waiting. 

Derek sat in the seat across from stiles, their knees touching, as Stiles kicked out at Derek’s legs.

“ _ Don’t you touch me, I’ll rip off your balls with my teeth I swear to god.”  _ Stiles hissed, eyes wild. 

“English, sweet boy.” Derek chided, wearing a smirk. The smirk stoked the fiery anger that Stiles felt coursing through his veins. 

Pulling his pants up slightly at the knee to allow him to stretch, Derek leaned forward, pressing into Stiles’s space. He pushed his knee in between Stiles’s until it was resting against his crotch softly, taking in the sight of his boy. Stiles’s face was pink with anger, as his chest rose and fell rapidly. The outfit he was wearing was handpicked by Derek after their shower. A soft white linen shirt cut so low that Stiles’s sternum was entirely exposed. Matching the shirt was a pair of high cut white linen trousers completing the look with a pair of sandals. Stiles’s nipples were pushed against the semi-sheer fabric of his shirt. Whether it was from Derek or the air conditioning in the plane, the reason was unknown to Stiles. 

“What are you looking at? Didn’t your mom teach you it's rude to stare?” The words were spat at Derek, though Derek paid them no mind. Instead, he moved his body closer to Stiles’s, pressing his knee further into the younger boy’s crotch.

“Be thankful I don’t take you right now, in front of Scott and Peter.” Derek’s large palm cupped Stiles’s chest, tweaking a nipple between his forefinger and thumb. To his satisfaction, he felt Stiles’s manhood start to stir under his touch. 

Without intentionally doing so, Stiles arched closer into Derek’s touch, mouth slightly open as he panted. Derek stood from his seat, to whisper into Stiles’s ear, his low voice hot against Stiles’s skin. After not being touched, or touching himself in several days, the intimate contact sent goosebumps over Stiles’s skin. He felt like he was burning up from the inside out. Stiles closed his eyes as he tossed his head back, hoping that if he couldn’t see Derek, he could just imagine some faceless man touching him instead. Even Antoni could fit the bill right now. As hard as Stiles tried, Derek’s strong body and chiseled features crept into his fantasies. Derek’s hands were so rough against Stiles’s chest he could feel his skin catching on the soft linen of his shirt. The pressure against his crotch was so much, but not enough at the same time for Stiles as he angled his hips, trying to gain more friction. The action made all of the touches from Derek abruptly stop, causing Stiles’s eyes to fly open. He had to bite his lips to strangle the desperate “please” that he almost let out. 

“You have to earn the right to pleasure.” And with that, Derek left Stiles tied to his seat, half-hard as he went to the back of the plane where Peter and Scott sat for the rest of the flight. 

Landing in an unmarked airport, Stiles had never been more ecstatic to see the ground. The airport was private, of course, Stiles rolled his eyes at the thought of Derek refusing to use a public airport. They aren’t up to his standards. The second the binds that tied Stiles to his seat Stiles stormed off the plane so quickly he would have sworn that the plane hadn’t even touched down. Stomping across the tarmac, he put as much distance between himself and his captor as possible. 

Derek huffed out an exasperated sigh as he followed him off the plane. 

“Stiles.” The call from Derek fell on deaf ears as Stiles kept stomping. Stiles whipped around to face Derek briefly, throwing out his arms as if to say:   
  
“What?!” Spinning back around, he turned so his back would face Derek, crossing his arms across his chest.

Choosing to give him space, Derek hung back. As much as he hated to give Stiles so much control, he had to pick his battles wisely. They had a lot to do that evening in terms of business and pleasure. He couldn’t risk pushing Stiles too far, causing Stiles to not obey him later. 

Two SUV’s pulled in front of the plane, stopping in front of the group of men for them to load into. The SUV’s were in Derek’s signature style, dark, imposing, and closed off to the rest of the world. Thick, tinted windows hid what lay in their contents, ensuring people would turn a blind eye to the dark trojan horses turned vehicle. 

Peter climbed into the first SUV into the front passenger seat as Derek stepped into the back behind his uncle. Scott climbed into the front passenger seat of the second SUV, leaving a seat open next to Derek. The driver of the SUV that Derek and Peter had chosen, opened the back door to the seat that was intended for Stiles. Right beside Derek. Turning on his heel, Stiles walked to the second SUV, and climbed into the back behind Scott, ignoring the glower he received from Derek. 

“You shouldn’t push his buttons, Stiles. You don’t know what you’re messing with.” Choosing to ignore the warning from Scott, the warning churned in Stiles’s belly. 

“You know, I’m so totally not buying your threats anymore. Or his.”    
  
“If you play stupid games, you’ll win stupid prizes, Stiles. Don’t push him, you’ll regret it.” 

“Oh wow, I’m so scared.” Stiles mocked fear with a sarcastic tone from the back seat. “What’s he going to do? Take me away from my family, life, and country? …. Oh wait, he did.” 

In an attempt to tune him out, Scott pulled out his phone. The action only rubbed Stiles the wrong way as he half climbed over the center console to see what Scott was doing. 

“What? Are you going to tell on me? Are you going to tell Derek that I’m not being a good boy? Screw you, dick head.” Stiles growled, throwing himself back into his seat. 

Scott didn’t respond from the front seat, leaving Stiles to stew and pout in his own silence in the back of the SUV. Pressing his cheek against the window, Stiles fogged up the cooled glass with his breath as he turned his attention from Scott to something more productive. Finding out where the hell he was. He scanned the roads, searching for architecture, beaches, cities, anything that would give him an indication as to where he was. The sand in his hourglass was slipping away so quickly, Stiles couldn’t keep up. He had a plane ticket, and he had a passport, but the one thing he did not have on his side, was time. 

He wasn’t religious, but he prayed. He prayed hard to any higher power that would listen. If he missed his flight, it would be nearly impossible to get back to Poland. Especially seeing that he had no money and no phone. His flight would be departing in just under ten hours. The feeling of helplessness pooled deeply in his stomach, alongside a more curious feeling. Stiles couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

A large sign loomed above the freeway that they had been traveling on, the sun bright in Stiles’s eyes blocked his view. Scrambling to see, he shielded his eyes, ducking and weaving his head to try and block the sun so he could see what the sign said. 

There were many times during this trip that Stiles had wished he had paid more attention in Spanish class, this moment, however, was not one of them. Though the majority of the words on the sign were lost to stiles, one was easily read once they were close enough. 

“Madrid.” 

  
  



	11. Make the Devil Holler Hallelujah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Friends!   
> If you don't like noncon, please skip the majority of this chapter. It gets fairly spicy...   
> Hope you enjoy!   
> ~Squibs

If anyone had asked Stiles, he would have told them that he had a heart attack. Of all of the places that Derek could have flown him to, the odds of him going to Madrid were one in millions. A swell of hope bloomed through Stiles’s chest. The nightmare he had been living for the past three days was going to be over. The thought made Stiles’s eyes water. By this time tomorrow, he would be so far away from Derek, he would never be able to sink his claws into him ever again. 

Lost in his thoughts, Stiles barely registered that they had pulled into a large, upscale hotel. As quickly as they had pulled in, Stiles was swept out of the car by a firm hold on his arm. Derek’s face was pressed into Stiles’s cheek. 

“If you say anything or look at anyone the wrong way, so help me god you will never see your father again.” 

Blinking, Stiles thought about the implications of his threat. Would he remove his monitored phone privileges? Not that it mattered much to Stiles, he only was ever allowed his one, first phone call. Or was this a thinly veiled guise to cover up the fact that Derek was afraid of something. What that was, Stiles wasn’t sure of. What he did know, however, was that he did not want to find out. 

They walked swiftly through the hotel lobby, not bothering to check-in at the front desk. Stiles wondered idly if this was one of the hotels Derek said he owned. They looked to be in his taste. Exclusive, high end, and cold. The wide expanse of the lobby had a low level of noise, though no one spoke louder than a soft voice. Stiles was sure it must be one of the most expensive hotels in the city, but it felt lifeless and clinical. They walked past the lobby and the main elevators and down a corridor marked employees only. At the end of the hallway was a private elevator. The dark steel doors stayed shut tightly until Derek waved his wrist in front of it.

Slightly deflated, Stiles bristled. Of course, there would be a remote access key in Derek’s smartwatch. He had gotten lucky thus far, it would be foolish to think that there wouldn’t be setbacks. When Stiles was pulled into the elevator, he realized that they were alone. No bodyguards, no Scott, no Peter. It had only been a few hours since he had been alone with Derek, but it felt like years. As if Derek could read his thoughts, a rough calloused hand placed itself on the back of Stiles’s neck. The long, strong fingers cupped him gently, giving enough of a squeeze to remind him who was in charge. 

When the doors to the elevator slid open, they revealed a large hotel suite. The living room was impossibly large for a hotel, with floor to ceiling windows letting in natural light. The furniture was all in shades of grey and white, contributing to the cold, clinical style of the hotel. The decor was modern and sleek, and everything was so shiny Stiles could swear he saw his reflection. Just off of the living room, near the elevators was a large kitchen. Stiles could see the time shining in green on the digital clock on the sleek black microwave. 

12:12. 

_ “Make a wish.” _ Stiles mumbled to himself, hoping that the repeating numbers would bring him luck. 

“What was that?” Derek asked absentmindedly as he loosened his tie from his throat and took his suit jacket off. 

“Nothing, just talking to myself.” Stiles shook his head, focusing on the present. 

Nine hours. Nine hours stood between himself and his flight back to Poland. Stiles stood in his spot, fixated on the clock in the microwave. Time was trivial to Stiles in his current predicament, everything was in Derek’s control. From when they would wake up in the morning, to when they would leave to go places, everything was decided by Derek and commanded to Stiles. He was shocked that Derek didn’t have a schedule for him to use the restroom. 

Derek moved around the suite with practiced ease. Uncuffing his shirt to roll the sleeves up his arms, Stiles stared at his forearms. The muscles never ceased to impress him. Tattoos snaked up them and disappeared under the crisp white shirt he wore. Stiles watched as he disappeared into a room, and returned without his jacket and tie, a few buttons undone on his shirt, exposing a dark smattering of chest hair. Stiles thought for a moment about what it would feel like to rake his fingers through it, willingly. He didn’t shake this thought out of his head like he had the others. One fleeting thought couldn’t hurt, right? Plush lips moved, though Stiles wasn’t paying attention to what was coming out of them, his mind wandered back to the kiss on the pillar. The more he thought about that kiss, the more his mind wandered. He thought about Derek’s body pressing against his, the kiss that was meant to claim him body and soul, and the way he might want it to happen again. 

“Are you listening to me?” Derek’s low gravelly voice cut through Stiles’s thoughts like a sharp knife. 

“I- Uh…. what?” Stiles fumbled, cheeks, and chest mottled pink with a blush from his thoughts. 

“I said, we have plans tonight. You will listen to everything I tell you to do when I tell you to do it.” Derek commanded roughly, arms braced behind him on the table he was leaning on. His dark brown eyes glaring through Stiles, pinning him to his spot. 

“Yeah, that’s going to be a no from me, asshole. You wanted this so bad, you’re going to have to work for it.” Stiles shot Derek an incredulous look of contempt. His eyebrows arched as his upper lip raised in a small sneer. If Derek thought he was going to roll over and bow at his feet he was wrong. 

Pushing off the table, Derek moved swiftly across the room, anger rolling off of him in waves that crashed around Stiles. 

“Hey, what are you doing. Easy there, killer.” Stiles stuttered as he walked backward away from Derek until his back hit the cool walls of the elevator doors. Crowding into his space, Derek reached out his large hand and grabbed Stiles roughly by the hair and pulled him across the suite by his brunette tresses. 

“Ow, you dick! That hurts!” Stiles cried, his hands gripping around Derek’s wrist, trying to ease some of the pressure on his scalp. It was difficult for Stiles to keep up with Derek’s long strides as he was dragged across the suite. Crossing into the threshold of the master bedroom, Stiles was thrown roughly into the center of the bed. His body bounced off the mattress from the force, nearly knocking the wind out of him. 

Descending upon him like a predator catching its prey, Derek pressed Stiles into the mattress, pinning his wrists above his head. He sat on Stiles’s thighs, halting his kicking and rendering Stiles immobile. Before Stiles could register what was happening, his wrists were clicked into restraints at the headboard. The realization made Stiles sick. Derek had restraints built into this bed. This was a regular occurrence. How many other people had he done this to? Were they willing, or unwilling? 

“You’re fucking crazy! Stiles cried, rattling his wrists against the restraints to try and pull himself free. In quick succession, his ankles were locked into a bar with padded leather restraints on the end. His legs were spread impossibly wide, exposing him to whatever Derek wanted to do to him. Even though he was still fully clothed, Stiles felt naked under Derek’s heated gaze. Turning his back to Stiles, Derek took his shirt off quickly, tossing it to the floor before rummaging through the bedside table. 

The soft light of the bedroom caught the metallic silver of the knife Derek had pulled from the bedside table. Stiles’s heartbeat pounded through his body, all of him suddenly aware of the gravity of the situation, If Derek wanted to, he could kill him right now, and Stiles would be powerless to stop it. The walls of the room closed in around Stiles as his throat squeezed shut. He couldn’t breathe. Every breath choked out in his throat as his panic mounted. 

“Please, please don’t kill me.” He sobbed out in gasping breaths. He was going to die. He wasn’t ready to die. Hyperventilation took over as Stiles’s chest rose and fell quickly. The air entering and leaving his lungs at such a rapid pace his body couldn’t process it. The room grew darker as Stiles teetered on the edge of consciousness. Before he could throw himself into darkness, warm hands held his face. 

“Stiles!” The voice sounded like it was underwater. Muffled and murky the words didn’t make sense to stiles. 

“Breathe with me. Breathe, Stiles.” The words were pressed against his forehead. The feeling of rough stubble against his cheek brought Stiles’s back to earth marginally. Desperately trying to cling to the present, he arched into the touch, seeking the contact as if his life depended on it. 

“Don’t touch me!” He wheezed, his mind betraying what his body craved. 

Derek’s body never left Stiles’s as he pressed closer, using his weight to blanket Stiles. 

“Breathe, sweet boy.” The words curled around Stiles’s ears, making him shudder. The sensations slowly anchoring him to the ground. His breaths slowed as he sucked in deep breaths. His body greedy for oxygen. 

“I’m not going to kill you.” The words were soft against Stiles’s skin, as gentle kisses were pressed into his sweaty face. “But you need to learn your lesson.” 

“Lesson? What? Derek. No. Let me go.” Stiles arched off the bed, twisting his body to remove Derek’s hulking form from his own. He pulled against the restraints, rattling them against the bedposts. 

Derek removed himself from Stiles and picked up the knife he had in his hands just moments ago. Resting a hand on Stiles’s belly to still his movements, he used the knife to pop each of the buttons off of Stiles’s shirt. The dull side of the blade rode down Stiles’s belly, a flurry of goosebumps flourishing under the cool metal as it trailed down to his pants. In a swift motion, Derek sliced the pants off of Stiles’s body. 

“What are you doing?” The bravado in Stiles’s voice diminishing to a quiet squeak, his eyes large as he watched Derek. 

“Fifteen. I want you to count each of them out.” Derek stated calmly, flipping Stiles onto his stomach. 

With his wrists attached to the bedposts, twisting onto his belly made Stiles contort into an unnatural position. He cried out as his shoulders pulled uncomfortably from the force. Taking in a deep breath, Stiles calmed himself. Fifteen. That was less than the twenty-five he got in the shower. He could do this. The dry slide of leather against fabric from behind him startled him, causing him to jump. He strained his neck, trying to see over his shoulder to see what Derek was doing. Before he could turn his head far enough to see, or pop one of his shoulders out of the socket, Derek trailed the end of his belt across Stiles’s side. The cool metal buckle catching softly against his skin in certain spots, causing Stiles to shiver against the touch. 

“I won’t be using my hand, Stiles. That didn’t teach you last time.” 

Stiles swore his heart stopped when Stiles understood the implications of the leather dragging across his skin. His underwear was roughly yanked to his knees exposing him fully to Derek, leaving Stiles no choice but to bare himself, body and soul. A dark red flush quickly enveloped his face and chest, the red color camouflaging all of his freckles. The first time Stiles allowed Derek to see him naked, it was on his terms. This time was on Dereks. Stiles was thankful that his chest nearly touched the mattress, allowing him the veil of modesty. The first strike with the belt sliced through the air and onto Stiles’s pale flesh. Fire seared across his bottom in the wake of the first of the fifteen lashings. 

“Count.” The demand was as rough as the hand that found itself wound in Stiles’s hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. 

“One.” Stiles choked out, wincing. 

By the time Stiles hit 10, his lips were bloodied from biting back his screams. He refused to give Derek the satisfaction of hearing them. His ass was alit with a blaze that rivaled the lake of fire in hell. This was hell. He was in hell and kept there by the devil himself. Wide welts raised on Stiles’s skin marked exactly what had been inflicted upon him. A cold sweat coated Stiles’s naked skin in a thin sheen and dampened his hair. 

“Eleven.” 

Derek wished he had seen this version of Stiles before he had the portrait in his house painted. This vision of Stiles was far more beautiful than the one he had in his home. His plush lips swollen from biting them, and coated in saliva tinged pink with blood drove Derek wild. The perfectly pale globes of flesh that were Stiles’s ass bright red with welts that Derek was sure he would feel for a week nearly made him weak. He would worship at the feet of Stiles, and put him on the highest pedestal. He just had to obey. Winding up his arm, Derek struck again. He watched Stiles arch off the bed and clench his teeth before biting out: 

“Twelve.” 

An erection like Derek had never had before strained against his pants. Drunk off power and dominance, the thirteenth lash sliced through the air swiftly as Derek brought it down on Stiles’s flesh. 

“Thirteen.” 

A tear slipped out from behind Stiles’s eyelashes, running down his cheek to stain the satin sheets beneath him. The pain was immense, but the humiliation burned hotter. Sniffing hard, and biting his lip, Stiles straightened his back in defiance, readying himself for the next strike. 

“Fourteen.” His voice trembled, thick with tears and saliva. 

The final crack came down lower on Stiles’s ass, right where his thighs met his bottom. Ensuring that he would feel it every time he sat, or his pants rode too tightly. 

“Fifteen.” 

Stiles panted, waiting for Derek to unbind him from his restraints. The relief never came, as Derek descended upon Stiles, throwing the belt to the side. Unable to resist his sweet boy any longer, he trailed kisses up Stiles’s quivering thighs. His sharply shaped nose tracing a straight line up the inside of Stiles’s thigh until it rested just below his dick. Derek took a deep breath of the scent that was purely Stiles, wishing he could bathe in it. Sweat and pheromones laced with fear made Derek drunk on the scent. His dark brown eyes were so blown out with lust, they reminded Stiles of a great white shark about to attack. Derek traced his way up Stiles’s heaving chest, he made it to his long pale throat.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, they’ll hear your screams in Warsaw.” The growl vibrated straight through Stiles, making him gasp. 

“No. No!” Stiles gasped, arching as far away from Derek as he could. 

The slap was unexpected as it cracked across Stiles’s face, forcefully turning his head to the side. Stiles’s mouth hung open, slack-jawed as shock took over. 

“You don’t tell me no.” 

Large calloused hands gently picked up Stiles’s face, forcing him to look at Derek. They softly caressed his cheeks, wiping away the tears from his eyes before he was kissed deeply. Teeth and tongue nipping and pulling at his lips, coaxing them open, to invite Derek in. The kiss was possessive, staking his claim on Stiles’s heart and soul and reminiscent of the kiss at the pillar. Pleasure pooled in the pit of Stiles’s belly, as blood began to rush from his head to his dick. Disgust curled through his veins simultaneously, reminding him that he shouldn’t be enjoying this, even if deep down, he was. 

“I will do anything I want with you.” The words were growled into Stiles’s ear, as sharp nips and nibbles were placed on the shell of his ear. “Whenever I want you.” 

He cupped Stiles’s manhood in his palm, kneading it softly. He could feel the soft beginnings of an erection, but now, with just a few simple touches, Stiles was hard. His erection bouncing off his taught belly. Pumping it slowly, Derek used his other hand to tilt Stiles’s chin up. 

“Look at me. Look at what I can do to you. How much your body craves this.” Stiles cracked an eye open, breathing heavily. He panted against Derek, whining softly. Using his hips to grind against Stile’s Derek used both of his hands to tweak and twist at Stiles’s nipples, leaving them swollen and red in his wake. 

“Derek… Please…” Stiles choked out. He couldn’t figure out if the plea was for Derek to stop, or for him to never stop. His entire body was on fire, and the room spun as Stiles lost himself in the guiltiest of pleasures. Head lolling back as he felt Derek grind into him, he felt the ghost of what it would feel like to be fucked by Derek. 

“Be a good boy, and come for me.” Derek commanded softly, kissing Stiles deeply. Between the torture on his nipples, his crotch, and the heat still radiating from his ass, Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. He exploded across his and Derek’s stomachs; arching into Derek’s mouth in a silent scream before collapsing back to earth, landing in Derek’s bed. 

Soft kisses were placed on his face and sucked onto his neck as Stiles came down. 

“Such a good boy for me.” Derek whispered as he undid the binds holding Stiles to his bed. As pretty of a picture as it was, Derek had business to attend to. 

“Meet me in the shower in 10 minutes. I have a business meeting soon.” Derek stated, coldly as ever, as he stood and shed his clothes. Leaving them in a pile by the bathroom door, he disappeared through the doorway. 

Stiles could hear the water in the bathroom being turned on as he laid, staring at the ceiling. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks as he sat up in the middle of the bed, pulling his knees into his chest. In the fervent heat of the moment, Stiles never had a chance to look at the bedroom. Across from the bed was a large portrait of Derek, dressed in a well-tailored suit as always, with a lion lying at his feet. The great Derek Hale, slayer of lions and university students. Stiles scoffed, wiping the tears from his eyes as the thought curdled in his stomach. Derek Hale may be able to slay lions, but he was not going to slay  Mieczyslaw Stilinksi. Anger and courage bubbled up in his throat as he threw himself off the bed, prepared to give Derek a piece of his mind. Punishments be damned, Derek would never touch him again. 

Following into the bathroom, Stiles was met with Derek’s back facing him in a large shower. The sound of the water drowning out his footsteps, as Derek never turned to acknowledge his boy. Before Stiles could give him a piece of his mind, a flash caught his eye. Sitting on the counter, was Derek’s smartwatch, flashing as a notification came through. Before Derek could turn around, Stiles snatched the watch off the counter, and silently made his way back out of the bathroom, padding softly so as to not give himself away. He dug through Derek’s pants and almost sobbed when he found his wallet. Taking out a handful of bills, he clenched them in his fist and ran to the living room. Stiles thought he had never been so happy to see a suitcase in his entire life. Their bags sat neatly by the elevator including Stiles’s medication bag, and it was the most beautiful thing he ever got to set his eyes on. 

Carefully, and quietly, Stiles ripped open his bag and threw on the first outfit he saw. A pair of jeans and a v-neck teeshirt. Unassuming enough. At the bottom of the bag, he found a baseball cap which he quickly threw on before finding a pair of sneakers. Stiles didn’t have time to lace them as he heard the water in the bathroom turn off. 

Heart pounding in his ears, he frantically flailed the watch against the door sensor until a soft: 

“Ding” 

broke the silence. 

“Stiles?” The tone was irritated, and Stiles knew his time was up. It was now, or never. 

Throwing himself into the elevator, he jammed the door close button, meeting Derek’s eyes for a brief moment as the doors slid shut. He was going to make good on his promise. Derek would never touch him again. 

  
  



	12. Only god can help you now

Stiles ran, feet pounding the concrete and eyes downcast he ran as quickly as his legs could carry him. His lungs burned with every breath he took in, but it was the breath of freedom. Stiles wanted to dance in the streets, but he had to keep running. Not knowing when he would be able to stop, or if he would ever be able to stop, he ran until he reached a busy intersection. The more people around the better. He needed witnesses if Derek caught up with him. 

Contacting the police wasn’t an option, that much was evident from their time in Mallorca, Stiles reasoned as he slowed down to divert attention away from himself. His best option was to blend in. Frantically looking around the square, he scanned for an unassuming cab. A woman and her child were stepping out of one, and he decided that that particular cab seemed the safest. 

Running up to them, he fumbled through the little bit of Spanish his brain could muster up and asked if he could take their cab if they were finished. Pulling her child closer to herself, the woman nodded curtly and uncomfortably as they hurried away. Stiles threw himself into the backseat. 

“ Adolfo Suárez Madrid–Barajas Airport, please.” Stiles asked breathlessly, scanning his surroundings for Derek or any of his crew. 

“ It’ll be about an hour with traffic.” Stiles poked his head through the partition in the cab to look at the time on the radio. To his surprise, it was already nearing six o’clock in the evening. Time was slipping away quickly. 

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine just go please.” Stiles let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding when the taxi pulled away from the spot on the street he had been standing in. 

Back at the hotel, Derek raked his hands through his hair, causing the typically well-styled strands to stand on end. He Didn’t have time for this. He came to Madrid to soothe things over with the Argent family after killing Mario. They had more of a problem with lost profits than with missing children, Derek discovered, leaving Kate out for blood. Especially since he hadn’t spoken to her after breaking off the engagement arranged by her father. 

“Deal with Kate first. I don’t want my balls on the line.” Peter drawled from the couch, completely unaffected by the situation. 

“No one is doing anything until Stiles is locked back up at the compound.” Derek hissed, hands itching for his gun. The need to put a bullet between Peter’s cocky eyes was nearly overwhelming. 

“ Maybe next time you’ll use a standard lock and key and not one of your fancy toys.” Peter snickered, playing on his phone.  “Maybe then you won’t get locked in your suite while your charge runs away.”

Derek stepped away from peter breathing heavily. He could still see Stiles’s face right before the elevator closed. His silent resolve, hiding beneath wide, frightened eyes as he hammered the buttons in the elevator. His boy was always so defiant, but this felt different. There was determination in his honey-colored eyes, hiding beneath the fear of getting caught. His boy had a plan, Derek just couldn’t figure out what it was. Stiles knew first hand that the police would be no help, and with the little bit of money he stole from Derek’s wallet, it would be barely enough for a hotel room, let alone a plane ticket to Poland. 

“I don’t know why you’re so worried. It’s not like he can leave Spain without a passport…. You do have his passport, don’t you?”

Cold realization flooded Derek’s veins. Scott never found Stiles’s passport or his plane ticket in his things. In his arrogance, Derek never thought to look closer. 

“Flights to Poland. Find me all the flights to Poland.” Derek barked, scrambling to pick up his phone and making a beeline to the elevator. 

“You’re kidding, Derek. He has his passport, doesn’t he?”

This was done. His boy had his adrenaline rush, it was time to come home. 

Stiles sat in the back of the cab, palms sweating. It wouldn’t take long for Derek to figure out what he was doing, and the thought rattled Stiles. Rubbing his palms down his jeans, he anxiously watched out the window. He expected to see Derek appear around any corner, or in any car. 

_ “Are you sure you don’t want to see him?”  _ A small voice asked, deep in his subconscious. If they had met under any other circumstances, Stiles would have climbed him like a tree. He was everything Stiles found attractive: tall, dark, handsome, he was even willing to forgive the brooding aspect. Sighing, he leaned his head against the window. Nothing made sense anymore. He felt far less excited about getting away than he should. 

“Where are you flying?” The cabbie asked his English thick with his Spanish accent, trying to start a conversation. 

“Back to Poland. My vacation is over.” Stiles shrunk into his seat, keeping his head low in the window. 

“With no bags?” The cab driver cocked an eyebrow “Weird.” 

“You have no idea, dude.” Stiles scoffed, picking at his nails. 

“Poland is by Scandinavia, yeah? Went to Stockholm a few years ago. Have you ever been?” 

Stockholm. The word rattled around Stiles’s brain, rolling in a sudden revelation. Stiles ran his fingers through his hair before letting out a deep breath. Stockholm syndrome. That would explain so much. He didn’t have feelings for Derek, Stiles reasoned with himself. It was just Stockholm syndrome. 

“Yeah, once or twice.” Stiles laughed softly at his own joke. He practically lived there now. 

The hour drive seemed to fly by because before Stiles realized it, he was sitting outside of the airport. Handing a fistful of crumpled bills to the cab driver, he didn’t even bother to count it. He thanked the driver and exited the cab, to stand on the sidewalk, near the doors that he had walked through just 4 days before. He remembered his excitement, all of the things he was supposed to do, and how he thought he would never want to leave. Now, he never wanted to see this airport again. He would die happy if he never thought of Spain or Derek Hale as long as he lived. In four days, Derek Hale forcefully invaded his life and changed it forever. As he stood on the sidewalk, Stiles decided that he would leave all of his thoughts of Derek back in Spain where they belonged. He had stolen enough of his time as it was. With his flight departing soon, Stiles quickly walked into the welcoming doors of the airport. Leaving his emotional baggage on the sidewalk behind him, he entered the doors a free man. 

Derek was losing his mind with worry. Over the span of his career, Derek had amassed more enemies than friends. It was the nature of the business. It would be foolish to think that Stiles would never be exposed to any of it, but with Derek’s watchful eye, he would always be protected. Without his presence, Stiles was vulnerable in ways that his sweet boy would never understand. 

Driving recklessly, Derek broke more traffic laws than he cared to know as he flew to the airport. The only thing going through Derek’s mind was how much trouble Stiles would be in once they got home. He searched the globe for his boy for five long years, and in four days, he lost him. He was prepared for a lifetime with Stiles, not four days. Anger surged through his veins, making his jaw clench tightly. He wanted to give Stiles the world, all he wanted in return was the promise of forever. Willingly or unwillingly, Derek didn’t care. 

A traffic jam made the SUV squeal to a stop as Derek stomped on the brake pedal. It was as if the universe was trying to remind Derek gently that fate had other things in store for both Stiles and himself. Slamming his hands on the wheel, Derek cursed loudly at the traffic. The universe and fate be damned. He wasn’t losing Stiles, not after finally finding him. He drove along the emergency lane, ignoring the angry honking and curses from the other drivers. In the book of Derek, this was an emergency. 

Upon arriving at the airport, Derek stomped his way through the building before he was stopped at Security. 

“ID and ticket please.” The security guard drawled, never looking up from his computer. 

“I’m meeting someone at their gate.”

“ID and ticket, please.” The security guard repeated, slower this time, as if Derek hadn’t understood. Derek’s hackles rose as he glared at the security guard, fingers itching for the gun he had in his back pocket. Before he was given an opportunity to shot his way through the airport, a hand clapped on his shoulder. 

“I have your passport. You’ll need to get a ticket.” Scott pulled Derek away quickly, shoving the passport into his hands before jogging to the ticket booth. According to the arrival and departure boards, the flight to Warsaw was due to leave in just under thirty minutes. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Derek was reminded that this was exactly why he flew privately. Tapping his foot impatiently, he waited until it was his turn in line. 

“ Warsaw. Now.” The demand came out in a growl before the woman at the counter could even greet him 

“Final boarding was just called, we can’t hold the plane if you don’t make it.” The woman behind the counter popped her gum as she took his credit card. The ticket was barely done printing before Derek ripped it from her hands and stomping across the airport back to security. 

“Derek! Derek! Slow down. You have to stop.” Scott pulled Derek to a desperate stop, pulling the gun out of his waistband and discreetly shoving it into his own. “ You can’t take a gun through security, idiot.” Scott whispered in a hiss, scanning his surroundings to make sure no one saw him shove the weapon into his waistband. 

Dismissing him silently, Derek continued his stomp up to the security guard. He threw his passport and ticket at the man from before, seething when the man took his time scanning each document into his computer. With a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder, the security guard waved Derek to go through the rest of the security checkpoint. Fists clenched he kicked off his shoes and shoved them onto the x-ray conveyor belt along with his own belt. He pushed his way through the metal detector and nearly screamed in frustration when the alarm sounded. 

“Sir, are all of your items out of your pockets?" 

Jamming his hands into his pockets he threw his wallet and phone onto the belt so hard he heard his phone screen crack. When he found Stiles, his boy was going to wish he was dead. He’ll be lucky if he ever sees the light of day again. Stomping his way back through the x-ray machine in socked feet, Derek gathered his items. Not even bothering to put his shoes on, he ran with them in one hand, his belt in the other. The belt would be needed when he caught up to Stiles anyway. 

Finally finding the gate, he ran breathlessly up to the attendant, slamming his passport and ticket onto the counter, chest heaving as he breathed heavily. The small blonde attendant stared at him with wide eyes as she picked up the ticket. 

“ I’m sorry sir, we’ve already locked the doors. The plane is pulling away now.” The woman squeaked, pushing the ticket back to Derek.

“Then stop it.” Derek slammed his fists on the counter, leaning over it to glare at the attendant.  “Stop the flight.” Shouting the order, Derek didn’t care if he caused a scene. They wouldn’t be at the airport long enough for it to matter once he had Stiles back in his arms. 

“ That’s not possible sir, you can either take the next flight or leave.” The woman cowered away from Derek, clipboard clutched to her chest tightly. 

Before Derek could respond, the loud rumble of a jet engine vibrated through the floor. He turned to the large glass windows surrounding the gate as he watched the flight to Poland take off. His anger had reached a boiling point. Red flooded his vision as pure pent up rage took over. He kicked over a garbage can, reveling in the momentary anger management. Hastily he pulled his shoes back on, leaving his belt in his hand before stomping back the way he came. 

Only God would be able to help Stiles when he found him.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	13. How I'll find myself without you?  That I'll never know.

Paranoia crept beneath Stiles’s skin as he sat in his assigned seat for his flight. The pressing feeling made him feel like his skin was crawling, as he became hyper-aware of everything around himself. Every person who walked through the doors of the plane, he expected to be Derek or one of his goons. Stiles never realized he was holding his breath until the heavy steel door of the plane was shut and locked. The deep breath he had been holding was let out, allowing his shoulders to deflate like a balloon. The weight of the world was lifted off his shoulders when he heard the soft thud of the heavy door close and then hiss to seal shut. He wasn’t sure how he managed Thankful for the empty seat beside him, Stiles sank into his own. The seat was supposed to be Antoni’s, and his absence was of no surprise to Stiles. He probably left for Poland the day that Stiles “left” him. 

_ “Where the FUCK, have you been?” _ Stiles had been so on edge, his brain never processed the voice was in Polish, let alone the high pitched shriek of a woman.

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Stiles whipped around, peeking between the seats to see who had yelled. Lydia Martin glared back at him through the seats, her long manicured fingers grabbing Stiles’s ear and tugging on it.

_ “Do you have any idea how worried I was? I’ve been calling you for days, you jerk!” _ The hurt in her voice was palpable and Stiles felt immediately guilty.

“Shh! Shut up! They could be listening!” Stiles shushed her harshly, popping his head above the seat to glance around quickly. Realizing no one was looking at them he turned back to Lydia in the seat behind him. 

“ _ Who’s listening Siles? I thought you went back home! What happened?”  _ The questions shot out of her mouth so quickly Stiles’s head spun. Oliver sat silently, obviously annoyed. Rightfully so, Stiles reasoned. It was a dick move to disappear on their group vacation. Not that he had any choice. 

_ “Lydia, please. I can’t tell you everything.” _ The hushed whisper was hurried as stiles stole a moment to look around the plane again. After his show with the police, Stiles was terrified to see how far Derk’s reach could stretch. The ugly paranoia from before churned in his stomach, as he once again became aware of everyone around him. Any one of them could be working for Derek, and he would have no idea until it was too late. Leaning forward, he whispered to Lydia frantically. 

“ _ You don’t understand. He could be listening.”  _ Stiles was too close to his goal, too close to being home, and seeing his dad again, to have it be blown twenty-six thousand feet in the air before even touching Polish soil. 

“ _ Who is this he? And if he doesn’t speak Polish then what are you worried about?”  _ Stiles reared back slightly, mouth gaping as he blinked at the realization. 

“ _ I…. uh…. That’s a good point.”  _ The admission was punctuated with a pointed finger. “ _ You got me on that one, Martin.”  _ Relaxing marginally, Stiles took a deep breath. “ _ You’re never going to believe this.”  _

Derek’s fingers clacked against his keyboard as he pounded the letters into his computer. 

“S….t….i….l….i….n….s….k….i.” After finding out the full name of his sweet boy, Derek had taken the liberty upon himself to begin a file on Stiles. For hours, he had scoured every database he had access to and wormed his way into the databases he didn’t. The file he had compiled wasn’t very large, but it had lists of everyone near his boy. As much as he used his brute strength to get what he was owed, Derek Hale was a strategist at heart. He ached to just barge into the home of Noah Stilinski, shoot him between the eyes, and drag his boy back to Spain where he belonged, but he knew he had little to no allies in Poland. No police officers to sweep this under the rug for a few bumps of cocaine. If this was going to happen with no problems, he couldn’t afford to lose. 

Packing his bag meticulously, he packed clothes for both himself and Stiles. They would need to lay low in one of Derek’s safe houses for a while, Spain wouldn’t be safe. There were few entities Derek couldn’t stop, and foreign embassies were one of them. Maybe he would take his boy to Italy or Greece. In his mind's eye, he could see Stiles dancing in the sand, as he had done the first time Derek saw him. He would laugh, and beg Derek to dance with him, as he kicked his feet in the clear water. 

Derek enjoyed the image of Stiles, tied up and begging, but he loved the visions of the boy in the sand. His tender heart bared to the world as he danced in the waves. How he’ll find himself without Stiles, Derek didn’t know. The sharp trill of Derek’s cell phone going off shattered his daydream, reminding him of the large Stiles shaped hole in his life as the vision of Stiles quickly disappeared. 

“Hale.” His proffered greeting was more of an announcement of status than it was a standard hello. 

“We’re ready for takeoff whenever you get here. I hear Warsaw is nice this time of year” Peter’s voice sounded tinny in Derek’s ear, his voice distorted by the cellphone. Derek didn’t care to give Peter a response. Snapping the lid of his laptop shut, Derk gathered his belongings and stormed out of the hotel suite. 

Stiles fell into an uneasy sleep on the plane, his body giving out from adrenaline. Watching over him dutifully was Lydia. On the opposite end of the spectrum, she was terrified to close her eyes. After Stiles shared his story and showed the bruises he had to prove it, she was terrified for him. As if Stiles’s paranoia from earlier was contagious, her eyes couldn’t leave Stiles’s form. The ghost of her best friend and the man he was before sitting curled up in his seat. He cracked a few jokes in his dramatic re-telling of his past four days, but Lydia watched as his smile never met his eyes. They stared straight ahead. Empty. 

The sun had just barely begun to rise when they landed. The bump from the landing gear hitting the runway woke Stiles up abruptly as he sat up and looked around, hair standing on end from sleep. When he opened his eyes, he expected to be back in Mallorca, locked away in a stone tower, like a princess in a fairy tale. Instead, he was on Polish soil. A lump formed in his throat. He made it. 

Stiles broke apart from Lydia at the baggage claim, he had nothing to claim other than his freedom. Giving her a firm hug before he left, it was a silent goodbye. He truthfully didn’t know when or if he would see her again but it was safer this way. He stepped outside of the airport, the cool air hitting his face and making him shiver. The temperature wasn’t unusually cold for the time of year, but compared to the burning heat of Spain, Poland felt cold, damp, and grey. He scanned the terminal traffic until he saw his dad’s cruiser pull up. The car was barely stopped before his dad was throwing himself out of it. Stiles was quickly gathered into his arms, a large familiar palm on the back of his head as he was hugged by his dad. And for the first time since escaping, he cried. Hugging his dad tightly, he finally felt like he had made it home. 

Pulling him out of traffic, the elder Stilinski guided him to the cruiser. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do,  Mieczyslaw.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	14. Home means family

Derek sat on his private plane, ignoring the hushed conversation that Scott and Peter were having. He sat in his seat away from them, sipping on his few fingers of whiskey as he stared at Stiles’s seat. He thought back to the first and only time he had sat there. Restrained to his seat in his sinfully sheer shirt, spouting off something in Polish to Derek. He should be in it now. Derek could see him, unrestrained, babbling excitedly about Poland, and all the things he wanted to show Derek, practically vibrating in his seat with happiness. 

Happiness. Did he want Stiles to be happy? Would he be able to make Stiles happy? Doubt swirled in Derek’s head, circling the drain. In the time that he had Stiles, he had never seen him happy. 

“ It had only been four days.” He reminded himself, scowling as he took a sip from his glass, the amber liquor burning his throat. Swirling his glass, he watched the ice cubes spin in the small vortex he created. The color of the whiskey was nearly the same shade as Stiles’s eyes, and Derek could feel himself getting sucked back into them. For the first time since his mother died, Derek felt a familiar sensation of home. The feeling of family he had been missing for the past five years, thanks to Stiles. Stiles didn’t see it that way yet, but he would. 

Downing the rest of his whiskey, Derek closed his eyes and waited for Stiles to meet him in his dreams. 

Stiles stepped out of his dad’s patrol car and breathed in the fresh mountain air. The small cabin was the best purchase his dad had ever made after his mom passed away. Stiles had named it the “bro abode”, seeing as no women were allowed. It was the place he went when he needed to clear his head, or when he needed to get away from the rest of the world. The elder Stilinski stepped out of the car and stood next to his son. 

_“I really wish you would make an official report._ _I want this bastard put away.”_ Noah said gently, gazing at his son with soft, worried eyes. _“Parish could come out, he could take it for you.”_

Stretching his arms above his head, stretching his sore muscles, Stiles closed his eyes. He had explained as much as he could to his dad, but he would never understand. Stiles was terrified of Derek and the hold he had on Spain. Stiles never learned if that grip went beyond country borders, and he didn’t want to find out. 

_ “Wish I could, pops. But it’s not the right thing to do.” _ Stiles threaded his fingers behind his head. 

_ “That is exactly the right thing to do.” _ His dad pressed, giving him an incredulous look.  _ “What would you say the right thing is, then?” _

_ "The uh… the opposite of the left thing? _ ” Stiles shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. His shoulders were so high they nearly touched the bottoms of his ears. 

_ “Get the hell in the cabin.”  _

_ “Yep, absolutely. I’m going. _ ” Stiles babbled, quickly climbing the stairs onto the porch. The stairs creaked under his footsteps, the old wood groaning as Stiles clambered up them. Fishing under the doormat, Stiles grabbed the spare key and let himself into the cabin and for the first time since he left Madrid, Stiles felt safe. 

The cabin was simple, but it was everything Stiles and his dad ever needed. Old wooden floors creaked under his feet as he started pulling open windows to let the fresh early summer air filter through them. The elder Stilinski came through the door, closing it behind himself and locking the door tightly. Stiles watched as his dad observed the locks for a second, his hand cupping his chin deep in thought before he took a chair and jammed it under the door. After doing so, Stiles watched the older man’s shoulders relax back to their neutral position. 

_ “Dad. He’s in Spain. _ ” The words leaving Stiles’s lips were soft and unsure in their validity. 

_ “That you know.” _ Noah took a moment and scanned out the window as he rested his hand on the butt of the pistol resting in its holster on his hip.  _ “I’m going to be completely grey, because of you.”  _

_ “The silver fox look would suit you.”  _ Stiles joked as he leaned on the kitchen counter. There was an easiness that he and his dad had. His dad knew everything about him, and he knew everything about his dad. There were no secrets. As he stood in the kitchen of the cabin that he had spent so many summers in, it didn’t feel like it was real. He expected at any moment to wake up, back in Spain. Back in hell trapped with the devil himself. The thought made Stiles’s throat squeeze tightly, and his eyes watered. 

“Dad?” Stiles cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the ball of emotions caught in it. 

“What’s up, son?” 

“Nothing.” Stiles didn’t have the heart to admit that he was just confirming his presence. It felt as if the second he stopped talking to his dad, everything would dissolve, and slide through his fingers like grains of sand on the beach. The first time Stiles danced on the beach in Spain, he thought he found his place in the world. The place that made his heart sing, and the place that he finally felt like he understood his purpose in life. He thought that Spain was going to be the place he could call home. But now, as he stood in the small cramped kitchen of the hunting cabin that he had shared with his dad for many years, he understood that home wasn’t a place. Home meant family. 

Landing in Poland was an incredibly ordinary affair. There was no fanfare, and Derek wasn’t arrested the second he stepped onto Polish soil, so he counted that as a plus. While in the air, he had spent most of his time awake scouring his own name in Polish databases, waiting for a police report to be filed, or to see a warrant for his arrest. When neither appeared, a swell of pride surged in his heart. His boy hadn’t reported what happened. Underneath all of the attitude and stubbornness, Stiles was still his good boy. Stepping off the plane, he tucked his file detailing everything they could uncover about Stiles into his breast pocket. 

Discovering the property records for the Stilinski name was an easy process. A small apartment in Warsaw was under the name  Mieczyslaw Stilinski, and Derek bristled when he saw how much Stiles was paying for his shithole apartment. He deserves the finest things in life, not a shoebox shared with an asshole. The second and third listings were far more interesting to Derek than Stiles’s small shithole apartment. The first was a small rowhome, under the name Noah Stilinski. Stiles’s father, and a member of the warsaw police department. Derek was not naive. The fact that Stiles hadn’t filed a police report, especially considering his father was a member of the police department, was lost to him. A very curious turn of events in Derek’s eyes. The home that the elder Stilinski was completely unassuming. In an upper-middle-class neighborhood, it was the home Stiles grew up in. The second property listed, was a small hunting cabin, in the middle of nowhere, Poland. 

Derek decided that the first place they would look would be Stiles’s childhood home. He didn’t foresee ever seeing this home, he didn’t care about Stiles’s past, he only wanted the future. Seated in the backseat of the vehicle, he pulled his cellphone out. 

7 missed calls: Kate Argent. 

He didn’t have time for her.

“So are you just going to drag him out of his home kicking and screaming? That’s subtle. I like the nuances.” Peter’s voice drawled from the front seat as he picked his nails. 

“Hey hold on. Derek said we were observing, first. We have to find a weak spot.” Scott stated heatedly from behind peter, glaring at the back of his head through the seat. 

“Well, gee. Thanks, boy wonder! I don’t know what we would do without you.”

“ I will rip both of your throats out if you don’t shut up.” Derek growled, he didn’t have time for them either. 

Pulling outside of the Stilinski family home, Derek was thoroughly unimpressed. The home was painfully average. Unsurprisingly to Derek, there were no signs of active life. The home stood dark with no lights on, and no sounds came from it other than from the neighbors. One car sat on the street outside of the house. A beat-up pale blue jeep that looked like a rolling death trap. Peeking into the windows, Derek saw piles of school work littering the floor and seats of the jeep, all with Stiles’s name scribbled on them. Stalking across the yard, he peeked into the windows and after deciding no one was inside, he used a trellis against the side of the house to scale to the second floor. Odds were better that there would be an unlocked window off of the ground floor. Pushing his luck, Derek started pulling on the windows until one slid open. Slipping into the house, he landed on the floor of an obviously teenaged boys room. Posters littered the walls, and an unmade bed was pressed into the corner. 

Derek quickly realized this must be Stiles’s bedroom, and he slept in his bed fairly recently. Running his hands over the furniture in the room, he imagined what Stiles must have been like as a teenager, outside of dancing in the sand. Opening the closet he found a well-loved red hoodie. The edges of the sleeves were frayed with small holes, and various old stains dotted the front, no doubt from Stiles’s clumsy nature. Bringing it to his nose, Derek inhaled deeply, wrapping himself in the scent of his boy. He lost himself in the fabric, imagining the soft hoodie was his boy he hugged it closely allowing his stubble to catch on the fabric. 

He would dress his boy in the finest silks and linens, but they would never match his personality the way this hoodie did. Derek draped it over his arm before dissecting the rest of the room. Photos of his boy with different friends were scattered across the room carefully. A young woman hugged his boy tightly in one of them, both of them grinning widely, causing jealousy to bubble in Derek’s gut. Taking the photo out of the frame, he stored it in his pocket for safekeeping. 

Stiles sat on the porch of the cabin watching the stars dotting the dark night sky. Pulling his dad’s leather jacket around him closer, he shivered. Was he putting his dad at risk by staying here with him? Or was Derek already off finding a new obsession? Stiles would never admit it to anyone, but the thought of Derek finding someone new created a gnawing sense of sadness in his chest. It would be for the best if Derek found someone new. Stiles would get his life back, everything would go back to normal. But the more he thought about never seeing Derek again, the more he missed his large hands roaming his body. His soft lips grazing his neck and kissing him so deeply it would make his head spin. 

“ _ You okay out here? _ ” Noah stepped across the porch to sit beside his son in the second porch chair. 

“ _ Yeah.”  _ The response was so soft the elder Stilinski had to strain to hear it.

_ “You don't look like you are.” _

Of course, his dad was right. Stiles was everything but okay at this moment. Leaning forward, Noah handed his son a beer and clinked the necks of the bottles together before leaning back into his own chair. 

_“I’m sorry, dad.”_ Stiles couldn’t look his father in the face, embarrassment burning him from the inside out. 

_“Sorry for what?_ ” Noah laughed breathlessly. “ _What could you possibly be sorry for?"_

_“You’re always cleaning up my messes._ ” Stiles ran his hands over his face before trailing them up to run through his hair. 

_“That’s my job. I’m your dad. That’s how this works. Dad. Son._ ” Noah pointed at himself before pointing at Stiles 

_“We’re supposed to take care of each other.”_ Stiles whispered, voice dripping in shame. 

Instead of a response, Stiles received a hug from his father. He couldn’t remember the last time he hugged his dad and decided he needed to make it a more regular occurrence if he was given the opportunity. Hugging his dad tightly, Sitles melted into the touch, desperate for any kind of human contact that he was consenting to. 

“I just don’t know what to do.” Stiles admitted quietly, his voice getting lost int he night air. 

“We’ll figure that out in the morning.” Noah said firmly, helping pull Stiles up from his seat. “You need to get some sleep.” 

Locking the door behind them, and setting the chair back in its place under the doorknob, Noah Stilinski lead his son to bed. 

Stiles laid in his bed staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours. He waited for the early morning sun to creep through the windows, but it never would. He was stuck permanently in the darkness that was swallowing him whole. Sitting up, he swung his legs out to the side of the bed to sit on the edge for a moment. If he listened closely enough, he could hear his dad snoring softly in the next room. The loud snores mingled with the hushed chirps from crickets in the night. The night was quiet. So quiet in fact, that when Stiles heard a car engine, the soft hum sounded like a jet engine. Throwing himself to the ground, he crawled to the window to see who was on their property. The cabin was so far in the woods that the only people who drove down their driveway and onto their property were people who knew how to get there. 

Stiles’s heart hammered in his ears as the door to an SUV opened and Derek Hale stepped out. Cold dread flooded his veins as he started to panic. Breathing so heavily he started wheezing, Stiles tried to make it to his door. He had to tell his dad, he had to wake his dad up. Footsteps sounded like gunshots on the creaking porch steps, and the groan of the front door opening sliced through the night. Hadn’t his dad locked the door? 

A million thoughts flew through Stiles’s mind as he scrambled across the floor and under his bed. Like a child. His chest was pressed into the floor as he clapped his hands over his mouth to smother the sounds of his panic-stricken breathing. 

The footsteps stopped right outside his door, and his door slowly swung open. Stiles could see the soft Italian leather of Derek’s dress shoes and the hem of his always impeccably tailored suit pants. The sound of his closet door sliding open made his heart pound impossibly faster. Upon finding no one in the closet, the dress shoes pointed toward the bed. 

“Are you lost, sweet boy?” His heart stopped in his chest. Stiles was a dead man. 

Large, strong hands pulled him out from under the bed as Stiles kicked, bit, and punched any inch of skin he could get his hands on but his limbs felt heavy. He tried to scream for his dad, but his voice got lost in his throat. He was pulled tightly to Derek’s chest as he was walked to the doorway leading into his dad’s room. 

“I’m a selfish man, Stiles. I won’t share you with any other man.” Derek whispered against his ear, as Stiles sobbed. Before Stiles could blink, the door was thrown open and Derek shot his father while he slept in bed. 

Stiles screamed. Finally pushing past the lump that had blocked his voice before, he screamed. Gasping out huge sobs, he screamed until someone was holding him tightly. Drenched in sweat that rolled down his forehead, stiles couldn't think, he couldn't speak, and he couldn't breathe. He just screamed. His fingers scrambled to scratch at the arms before he realized they felt familiar. 

_ “Stiles! Shhhh. It’s okay. It was just a dream.” _

Polish. Derek Hale didn’t know Polish. 

Throwing himself into his dad’s arms, Stiles sobbed into his chest. He gripped the elder Stilinski tightly as if, if he would let go he would disappear. 

_ “It’s okay, Stiles. I’m here. I’ve got you.” _ Feeling like a small boy, stiles cried, relishing in his dad's presence. He was safe, his dad was safe. Derek Hale hadn’t found him. 

Yet. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! 
> 
> Hope you guys liked the chapter!! What do you think will happen when Derek does finally find Stiles? 😱. Let me know what you guys think! Thank you so much for reading!
> 
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	15. Chasing shadows

Finding the cabin hadn’t been necessarily hard. Surveilling it without alerting Stiles, or his veteran police officer father, however, had been another story. After sitting outside of Stiles’s childhood home for several days with no one going in or out, Derek focused his attention on the cabin. It was almost immediately obvious that the two had holed themselves up in it. 

Through his binoculars, Derek could see Stiles laying in the grass in the front yard of the cabin. The way the wind ruffled his hair, completely unaware of the world turning around him, or the predator observing him from afar. For the first time since the first time Derek had seen him on the beach, there was no concern marring Stiles’s soft features. Derek watched as he stretched his arms out in the grass, and gripped the blades tightly. It appeared as if he let go for even a moment, he would float away, so he anchored himself to the earth. 

These times quickly became Derek’s favorite. Days passed slowly he learned Stiles’s and his father’s schedule in the cabin. Learning when they would raise, eat, shower, sleep. Neither Stilinskii had left the cabin once during Derek’s surveillance, other than to sit on the porch or, in Stiles’s case, lay in the grass. It was the only time during the day that Derek had an unobstructed view of his boy. When they were in the cabin, he could only see shadows. Stiles of course was the shorter shadow, but shadows weren’t enough to satisfy Derek. Derek’s world stopped when Stiles would step out of his fortress, and wouldn’t resume until Stiles returned inside. 

Derek ached for his boy. To hold him, to kiss him, to smell him. He needed to consume him. 

“Good things come to those who wait.” Derek’s mother would gently remind him of this as a boy. As he grew into a man, he took things by force. Patience was never one of Derek’s virtues. But now, as he watched his boy lay in the grass, he considered listening to his mother, even if it was just this one time. 

Would hearts and flowers convince Stiles? Derek was not a hearts and flowers romantic man. When considering his life, he can’t think of anyone whom he truly loved, or wanted to give the world to. His mother he was fond of, but love would not have been the right word. With consideration to family, the strongest emotion he could place a finger on towards them was loyalty. Stiles, however, was different. The level of emotion he felt towards him was a tidal wave in comparison to the ripple he felt towards his family. Derek was never confident that he could love anyone more than he could love himself until he saw Stiles dancing on the sand. As if it was effortless, Stiles lifted the veil that Derek never knew he had shrouded himself in and suddenly he was granted a clarity that he had never experienced. He would do anything for his boy, even if it meant being patient for him. 

Looking up from the grass, Stiles sat up and said something to his father, before bounding into the house, allowing Derek’s world to resume once more. 

Laying outside was one of Stiles’s favorite parts of his new routine. The breeze felt good against his skin along with the sunlight keeping him warm against the gentle breeze. The moments he spent away from his father, Stiles indulged in his thoughts. The realist in him knew that he couldn’t hide in the mountains with his dad forever. His dad had a job, and he had a life he had to return to at some point. Though the thought of leaving his sanctuary unnerved him, he knew that it was only temporary. 

_ “Would it be so bad?”  _ He sighed, to no one other than himself. 

Would what be so bad? Closing his eyes in thought, he considered the sentence. Would running away for the rest of his life be so bad? Creating an alias, and forgetting who he used to be in favor of his freedom, or would life with Derek be so bad? 

Stiles shook him from his head. Derek had stolen enough time from him, and Stiles willed the thoughts from his mind. Reaching out, he gripped the grass between his fingers tightly, anchoring himself to the ground as if it would save him from his thoughts. If he thought hard enough about it, he could feel large calloused hands running over his body, and holding him tightly. At times the grip was harsh, demanding in its nature as it threatened to crush bone if it was challenged. The times that Stiles missed, however, was when it was gentle. When Derek’s large calloused hands roamed his body and treated it like it was the most fragile thing he had ever touched. Under normal circumstances, being handled with kid gloves would serve no purpose other than to piss him off. Though when it came from Derek, Stiles found himself missing it. 

_ “You’re sick, Stilinski.”  _ The loud groan seemed to echo off the mountains, through Stiles knew the echo was just in his head. Running his hands over his face, he stretched his arms above his head to bask in the glow of the late afternoon sunlight. 

Curiously, Stiles’s felt his skin prickle, causing his hair to stand on end. A deep unavoidable feeling of being watched settled deeply in his bones, causing him to shiver under the warm sunlight. Under the circumstances Stiles had found himself under previously, the idea of someone watching him would send fear through his bones. But in Poland, on his proverbial home field, the thought didn’t scare him. 

_ “Come in for a minute, we have to talk.”  _ The deep tone of his father broke Stiles from his thoughts as he sat up and shook the previous thoughts from his head. 

“ _ A literal minute, or an officer Stilinski minute?”  _ Stiles called back to the disembodied voice of his father, scratching his chin as he squinted in the late afternoon sun. 

“ _ An ‘I’m your father and you will listen for as long as it takes’ minute.”  _

Stiles took in a deep breath before he stood from his spot in the yard and quickly climb the stairs into the cabin. 

Meeting his father in the living room, Stiles threw himself next onto the couch. He kicked his feet onto the coffee table before reclining back in his seat his hands cradling the back of his head as his elbows bent outwards. Using the rolled newspaper in his hand, the elder Stilinski slapped his feet off the table. 

_ “I’m glad you see this as a vacation.”  _ Noah grumbled, taking a seat next to Stiles. 

“ _ When was the last time we came out here, just you and me? This is like a vacation. Forced family fun?”  _ Stiles shot his dad a sardonic smile, his smile was bright, but it didn’t meet the lost look in his eyes. 

“ _ We can’t hole ourselves up here forever, Stiles.”  _ Noah took a deep breath, bringing his hands to steeple his fingers in front of his mouth. “ _ I have a job and you have a life. I love you, more than words can describe, but I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”  _

Stiles pulled his knees into his chest and gnawed on the corner of his thumb suddenly feeling small. His dad was able to fix anything, and the knowledge that not even he could fix this poured over Stiles like ice water. He knew he couldn’t stay in the cabin forever, but he didn’t want to file a police report either. He told himself it was because he didn’t know how far Derek’s reach stretched, but he also couldn’t see him be put in prison. 

_ “There’s no proof, Dad.”  _ Stiles murmured against his thumb, his speech was slightly garbled by the appendage. “ _ Besides, wouldn’t I have to go to Spain to file? He didn’t commit a crime in Poland.”  _

_ “Did I ever tell you I regret letting you be so smart.” _ The elder Stilinski chuckled, tipping his head back as he groaned. 

“ _ I can just stay here for a little longer, just until I figure out what to do. I’ll go back to Warsaw and pick up baby. That way you can go to work.” _ The plan felt sound enough, in Stiles’s mind. He would have a vehicle to get supplies whenever he needed, he was isolated and knew the area like the back of his hand. If anything were to happen he had a home-field advantage. “ _ The phone line is still hooked up, I can still call and talk to you, and let you know everything is okay.”  _

_ “Fine.” _ Noah looked his son over, wishing he had never agreed to allow his son to go to Spain for the first time all those years ago. “ _ But I’m leaving one of the guns here. _ ” 

With every passing day, Derek grew increasingly haggard. His stubble started to resemble a beard, and dark purple bruises stained his under eyes from lack of sleep. He could feel the toll that being away from Stiles took on his body, as well as the toll it took on his business. 

“It’s been two weeks, Derek. Stop this angsty teenager bullshit. If you forgot, you have a business that needs a leader, not a sad sack of shit.". Peter’s voice was garbled through the phone, the reception breaking in and out. 

Derek leaned back in his chair in the small cramped motel room he had been calling home since landing in Poland. It was far from the opulence he was accustomed to, with the outdated furniture, and a lingering smell of mildew. Being in the room made his skin crawl, but out in the mountains, this was the only hotel available. He stared at his laptop sitting across his lap, on the screen he could see the outside of Stiles’s cabin turned bunker. The lights had long since turned off, and he could imagine Stiles’s long eyelashes resting on his cheek as he slept. 

“ You have to come home, Derek. One of our shipments to the Argents got intercepted by Interpol and the whole thing went tits up.”

Derek groaned and rubbed a hand over his tired face, torn between biological family, and the sense of family he felt when he held Stiles in his arms. 

“ Family first, Derek. You know this.” Peter’s voice was firm as he scolded him. 

“ Have the plane ready for tomorrow morning, If I lose him again, I’ll kill you.” The threat hung low in the air, as Derek jammed his thumb against the screen of his phone to hang up on Peter. He found himself missing the satisfying snap of an old school phone as you hung up. How anyone could get satisfaction from pressing their phone against a glass screen to end a call you didn’t want to have in the first place was beyond him. 

Scrolling through his contacts, his thumb hovered over Scott’s contact. Under normal circumstances, Derek would take Scott with him to deal with matters such as an intercepted shipment of cocaine. Scott’s smooth-talking and schmoozing could fool nearly anyone and distract them long enough for Derek to orchestrate a coverup from behind the scenes. Scott was invaluable to Derek and his family’s business, and as much as he needed Scott in Spain, he needed him more here. He was the only person beyond himself who he could trust his boy with. 

Finally pressing the call button, Derek raised the phone to his ear. A pit formed at the bottom of his stomach as every fiber in his being screamed at him to hang up the phone and tell Peter to piss off. Before he could do so, however, Scott picked up on the second ring. 

“ Yeah, boss?”

“I have to go back to Spain, We lost a shipment.” Derek trailed his sentence his tongue thick in his mouth.  “I’m putting you on surveillance detail.” 

“Who? The Argents? Kate almost shot me the last time I did that, thankfully her aim is shit.” Derek could feel Scott’s cocky smirk through the phone. 

“Not the Argents. I need you to watch Stiles.” 

There was a considerably long pause on the other end of the line before Scott answered. 

“He’s not coming back to Spain with us?” 

“No.” Derek didn’t care to engage in conversation, his tone clipped as he continued.  “ I want full detailed reports. If he so much as thinks about leaving that cabin I want to know.”  Derek’s jaw clenched. This felt wrong. He came to Poland to bring Stiles home, not to leave him behind. The feeling of betrayal was suffocating. 

“ Yeah, Okay, No problem. I’m your eyes.” Scott confirmed. Derek thanked him softly and hung up the phone. 

Their ride back to Warsaw the next morning was quiet. Stiles noted the tick in his Dad’s jaw from being clenched so hard, his knuckles white against the steering wheel in their vice-like grip. The elder Stilinski didn’t have to say anything, Stiles knew he was regretting agreeing to his idea. He probably figured that Stiles was safer with him, and Stiles wouldn’t be able to disagree. He was safer with his dad, but his dad was safer without him, and that was a risk Stiles was willing to take. It was easier to distance himself rather than admit that he wasn’t sure if coming home to Poland was the right choice. 

Pulling outside of his family home, his heart leaped at the sight of his beloved blue jeep. His dad had picked him up from the airport so he had no reason to drive it up until this point. The love he had for his jeep was close to the love he had for his dad. It was a rusty member of their family. Stiles grew up in his jeep and refused to give up on it since the moment the keys hit his hand. 

Dangling the keys in front of him, Noah quickly pulled them away from Stiles before he could take them as a way to get his full attention. 

“ _ For once in your life, Stiles. Please don’t do anything before thinking.”  _ The elder Stilinski attempted to sound stern, but he couldn’t hide the pain in his voice. He was scared. Stiles could feel it as if it was radiating out of his father. 

_ “I promise.” _ The promise was empty. Stiles was never good at thinking before acting, or speaking, or falling for mafia bosses. 

Hugging his father tightly, Stiles climbed out of the patrol car and unlocked the door to his baby. The metal felt cool and familiar under his hands, grounding him back with reality. Before climbing into his jeep Stiles stopped quickly and turned to his dad. 

“ _ I’m going to get some more clothes, quick.”  _

Jogging into the house, Stiles quickly made his way up the stairs and into his childhood bedroom. Grabbing a duffel bag from under the bed, he shoved a few outfits into it. He wasn’t sure if anything would even fit him now, he hadn’t worn any of it since high school. All of his current belongings were in his and Antoni’s apartment, and he was not about to go there. He tore through the closet, eyes narrowing when he couldn’t find what he was looking for. 

_ “Dad? Have you seen my old red hoodie? I can’t find it.”  _

“ _ You probably lost it. This is why I tell you to clean up after yourself.” _

His dad’s chiding tone filtered up the stairs, muffled by the floorboards. Stiles frowned but dug further into his closet until he found an old piggie bank. Years of his elementary school and high school savings had gone into the ceramic pig. 

“ _ For a rainy day! _ ” He recalled telling the younger version of himself as he stuffed the pig with coins and the occasional bill. 

When it rains, it pours. 

Stiles took the pig and stuffed it into the bottom of his duffel bag before bounding back down the stairs. He hugged his dad tightly as if it was the last time he would have the opportunity to. Because he knew it very well could be. 

_ “I love you, dad.”  _ Voice thick with emotion, Stiles brushed a few tears away that threatened to fall from his eyes. 

_ “I love you,  _ _ Mieczyslaw, no matter what.”  _

A father’s intuition rarely wavers. Stiles knew this. His dad always knew when he was going to get himself into trouble, or when he was hiding something. Sometimes it almost felt like his dad knew what he was thinking before he did. Could his dad feel the conflict that’s been brewing in his chest since he landed in Poland? Choosing not to ask, Stiles just hugged his dad tighter. 

The drive back to the cabin was quiet, though this time it wasn’t by choice. Stiles drove the long lonely drive back to the now empty cabin. The suit of armor he felt he had on when his dad was with him now gone, leaving him feeling small and vulnerable. The thought of hiding in that cabin for the rest of his life stoked a spark of anger in his chest like a furnace. Was he just supposed to sit there and wait until Derek found him, or die alone in hiding? He pressed his foot against the accelerator harder the angrier he got, flying down the backcountry roads. He passed a black SUV and his head swiveled quickly to catch the driver though he wasn’t able to see them. Tired of chasing shadows, Stiles drove even faster, his jeep screaming down the road. If he couldn’t escape his thoughts, he would try to outrun them instead.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! 
> 
> I am so sorry this took so long to get out! I finally figured out the direction I wanted to take this fic, and I hope you guys will come with me to see where it goes! Get ready, things are about to take a drastic turn! Let me know what you guys think! Stay tuned! Next chapter should be up soon! 
> 
> follow me on tumblr for fic updates: https://squibblerr.tumblr.com


	16. Found

Stiles drove through the Polish mountains, his hair whipping around his face from the wind coming through the open windows of his Jeep. The sting of his hair slapping his face, and the cool air made him feel alive. The faster he drove, the farther he put his mind away from his dad, Spain, and Derek Hale. Puttering to a stop, Stiles pulled off the road and parked his baby. The sun was beginning to dip below the tree line, casting ominous shadows. The darkness threatened to seep into Stiles’s tired bones and rot him from the inside out. How long would it take until the darkness decayed everything Stiles knew of his former self? 

The ice cubes swirling around Derek’s chilled crystal whiskey tumbler were warm compared to the chill hovering over the long meeting table. Derek sat at one end, and Kate Argent, the head of the rival family to the Hale crime empire sat at the other. Her fox-like features set in a bored expression as she examined her manicured nails. Her long red painted nails resembled talons tapping against the wood beneath them. 

“You haven’t returned my calls.” Her low voice curled like smoke around the room, gliding over Derek’s ears.

“I’ve been preoccupied,” Derek responded cooly, swirling the ice in his tumbler before taking a sip. He welcomed the familiar burn as the liquid scorched a fire down the back of his throat. 

“ Too preoccupied to tell me that the blood of Mario is on your hands?”  The sentence would have been ominous had it not been for the bored tone in her voice, and the fact that she was still examining the undersides of her nails. 

“ He was trafficking women under my family name. He deserved far worse than what I did to him.”  Derek’s eyes narrowed, challenging the huntress at the opposite end of the table turned jungle. 

“ Not only did you cost me a reliable runner, but you cost me an entire shipment that had been intersected. That was a costly choice, Derek. How should I be repaid?”  The red lipstick painted on Kate’s lips stretched as she smiled, baring her teeth. “ You could repay me over dinner,”  Kate answered her own question. Tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder, Kate bared her long neck to Derek. Her breasts spilled out of the top of her low cut dress in a wanton display of sensuality. 

“ I’m not interested.”  Derek leveled, his lips turning up in an unconscious sneer. Kate had been trying to merge their families for years, spinning tales of endless wealth and power. Derek’s stomach soured at the thought of marrying the vicious woman. 

“ I’m sure your new toy won’t mind. He can be “preoccupied.”  Kate's smile spread impossibly wider as she cornered Derek with her words. 

Keeping a straight face, and his proverbial cards turned into his chest, Derek took another sip from his glass. 

“ You need to be specific. I have many toys.”  His words were smooth in comparison to the rolling waves of nausea he felt. Stiles was his only weakness, and that was a dangerous place for his boy to dwell. 

“You found him. You’re foolish to think I’m blind.” Kate's long red nails tapping against the wood of the table sounded like a funeral march to Derek. 

Anger burned hot, and ugly under Derek’s skin, prickling against his suit. He would die before harm would befall his sweet boy. His fingers itched to send Scott a text message in warning, and his bones ached to swoop in and hide Stiles from the ugliness of the world he found himself in now. 

“ He’s such a pretty little thing.” Kate resumed picking under her nails, examining them closely with sharp eyes. “ He would almost make up for my losses. I’m sure finding a buyer won’t be difficult.” Kate’s tongue ran across her rows of white teeth as if the idea was delicious to her. 

Keeping his emotions at bay, Derek leaned back in his seat. “If a war is what you want, a war is what you will get.”

Stiles packed, unpacked, and repacked his clothes haphazardly as he changed his mind each time he unpacked and repacked his bag. His plane ticket to America sat neatly next to an outdated flip phone that he had purchased on top of his pile of clothes. Pacing around the cabin, Stiles pulled at his hair, scrubbing his hands over his face. Lydia had offered to take him back to the states with her when she returned for the remainder of her summer break. She extended the invitation to give him a few weeks to clear his head. Now as he stared at the tickets, Stiles wasn’t sure if that was the right answer either. After holding himself up in this cabin for nearly a month, Stiles was ready to crawl out of his skin. His dad had returned home nearly two weeks earlier, and Stiles still had no idea what he was doing other than hiding. 

The rational side of him knew deep down that Derek knew he was in Poland, but in his ever-optimistic world, Stiles hoped he didn’t know where in Poland he was. After being unbothered for a month, Stiles grew comfortable with the fact that he was hidden, but not comfortable with the fact that he had run away. His body ached for Spain. To feel the warm sun beat on his face, and to bury his toes in the sand. In his dreams, he could feel the cool ocean lapping against his skin, and to feel the smattering of chest hair against his cheek. Shaking his head, Stiles cracked an open palm against his cheek, relishing in the sting. He needed Derek Hale to get out of his head, or he would be consumed entirely. Packing his back for what felt like the millionth time, Stiles nodded his head with certainty as he zipped the nearly bursting bag shut. 

Derek paced around his bedroom eyes darting to the ornate clock on his nightstand. The hands mocking him as they ticked slowly past three am. With his phone pressed tightly against his ear, he dialed and re-dialed Scott's phone number frantically. A swelling feeling of dissatisfaction grew stronger with every missed call. His eyes were wild as he shoved a handgun into the back of his slacks. The rich Italian leather of his belt held the firearm snugly against his lower back. 

“ McCall. ” Scott finally answered curtly, his voice thick with sleep. his voice crackling into Derek’s ear. The sound of Scott’s voice washed relief over Derek, but his heart still pounded wildly in his chest. Fear was an unfamiliar emotion, and fear for a person that was not himself was otherworldly and he did not handle the feeling well. 

“ We’re done with this. Pull him out now.”  Derek snarled into the phone, ripping open a safe hidden in the back of his closet. Fishing around the inside he found a small glass vial of sedatives he was looking for. A nagging feeling in the back of his head served as a reminder that Stiles had an adverse reaction to the sedative when used previously. 

“Where am I taking him?” Scott’s voice suddenly cleared, all traces of sleep abruptly lost. 

“Fuck, anywhere.” The glass of Derek’s phone screen creaked under his palm, threatening to give way to the pressure he was placing on it. 

Derek watched as the seconds ticked by on his clock. Each agonizing second seemed like a step that Kate was taking towards his boy. If she sunk his claws into him, he would never see Stiles again. The thought made Derek dizzy. Taking a moment to regain his composure, Derek sucked in a deep breath through his nose. His nostrils flared as he greedily took in as much oxygen as he could until his lungs screamed. Letting it out slowly, Derek allowed himself to think. 

“Keep him at the cabin. I’m coming for him now.” Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“What happened?”

“Kate.”

Stiles slept restlessly that night. The looming trip to America crept into his thoughts, and his brain rattled around inside his skull. When he reached America what would he do? This wasn’t a vacation. He couldn’t just play in the sand. What would he do when it would be time to leave America and return to Poland. Would he return to Poland? Was Poland even home, anymore? His thumb inched up to his mouth, so he could worry the skin on the side of the appendage with his teeth. Doing the only thing that felt right, Stiles stood from his bed and grabbed his newly acquired cell phone. His fingers dialing the only phone number he knew by heart so quickly he barely registered what he was doing. Each ring on the line felt like an eternity before finally, a gruff, sleep thick voice answered. 

“ _Mieczyslaw?”_

Stiles used the back of his sleeve to push away tears he hadn’t even realized started to gather and answered with a watery voice. 

“ _Hi, Papa.”_ Choking out a laugh at how ridiculous he must sound at three in the morning, Stiles sniffled before continuing. “ _I miss you.”_

_“Give me a minute, gotta put pants on.”_ The elder Stilinski grumbled, and Stiles could hear him rummaging around his bedroom through the phone. “ _I’ll be there in a little while,”_ Noah said softly, making Stiles feel so much smaller. The long walls of the cabin seemed to tower above him and the familiar feeling of home left like a gust of wind. All of the false sense of bravado he had been feeling burned away to nothing, leaving Stiles feeling vulnerable, afraid, and missing his dad. 

_“Thanks, Papa,”_ Stiles whispered, hugging the phone close to his ear as if he could crawl through it and end up in his old home. Snapping his phone shut, Stiles flopped backward onto his bed to stare at the ceiling for a few moments before growing bored and angrily throwing himself back off the bed again. Digging through the bag that he had so carefully packed and repacked, he dumped out the contents until a dirty pair of sneakers fell out of the bag and to the ground with a thud. Fishing around the pile of clothes that now littered his floor, Stiles pulled out a pair of gym shorts and his second favorite hoodie. Annoyance prickled through him at the reminder that his favorite hoodie was missing. Pulling the clothes on, and the shoes over his feet, stiles grabbed the keys to the cabin and jogged outside. 

After taking a moment to stretch his muscles against the side of the porch, Stiles began to jog down the driveway. His feet pounded rhythmically against the dirt, as he went. The night sky was still dark, and the moon hung full in the sky. Using only the moonlight to guide his path, Stiles kept running. His lungs burned with each breath, and his chest heaved as he ran. For the first time in weeks, he finally found the catharsis he was searching for. The more his body ached, and lungs burned with exertion, the less confusion he felt. With every passing kilometer, he felt more like himself. 

The sun had just started to peek above the horizon when Stiles made it back to the cabin. The stormy sea of thoughts that had swirled around the inside of his skull previously had now died to calmer waters. Resting his hands on his knees to take deep breaths, Stiles embraced the burn in his chest and sore muscles. Standing up slowly to stretch, he reached his arms above his head to stretch out his back. The motion caused his shirt to ride over his stomach, revealing lean muscle and pale freckled skin. 

The stark sound of the crunch of car tires against gravel popped through the otherwise silent forest, catching Stiles’s attention. His dad said he would be there soon, but this was early even if he broke every traffic law and speed limit. Fear overtook any rational thought as Stiles ran into the cabin slamming the door shut behind himself. Deciding it was in his best interest to not be a sitting duck, Stiles slammed the locks shut on the doors, and windows in succession before sliding a heavy table in front of the front door. 

As if it were divine intervention, the pistol that his father had left for Stiles sat on the top of the table he had just moved. The early morning light caught the reflection of the brushed steel and subsequently, Stiles’s attention. Shaking hands with long, equally trembling fingers reached out to grip the gun tightly. In an act of second nature, Stiles popped open the chamber and counted his bullets before sliding the cartridge back inside. If it was his dad, he would pat him on the back and say how prepared he was. If it wasn’t? The thought whispered in the back of his head, taunting him. 

Before he could finish the tormenting thought, a vehicle came into view from behind the densely covered driveway causing Stiles’s heart to sink to his feet. 

The large black SUV lumbered up the driveway slowly, as if it were approaching a scared, wild animal. All of the saliva in Stiles’s mouth dried. The black exterior of the SUV felt like a harbinger of death. Pressing his back against the wall, his chest heaved and his head swam with anxiety. The creeping feeling of a panic attack gripped Stiles’s throat and squeezed the last breath out of his lungs. Sliding to the floor, Stiles felt his hands scramble autonomously to claw at his throat in a desperate attempt to gain oxygen. 

_“This can’t be real. This isn’t real.”_ Stiles sobbed as he screwed his eyes shut and clapping his hands over his ears. The sound of the pounding on the door became distorted as everything around Stiles became unfamiliar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for taking so long to update. I won't lie, I hit a point with this fic that I didn't know where I wanted it to go, and I set it aside and nearly forgot about it. I won't make excuses, but I sincerely hope that you all are still as invested in this story as I still am. Thank you <3


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